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SCENES 



AND 



IMPRESSIONS 



IN 



EGYPT 

AND IN ITALY. 



BY THE AUTHOR OF 

SKETCHES OF INDIA, and RECOLLECTIONS 
OF THE PENINSULA. 



LONDON: 

PRINTED FOB 

LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, BROWN, AND GREEN, 

PATERNOSTER-ROW. 

1824. 

1\" eA/ ■ . 



61899 






London : 

Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode, 

New- Street-Square, 



PREFACE. 



The ground over which I would conduct 
my reader, has been trodden, and de- 
scribed by a hundred travellers, and is, for 
all the useful purposes of description, as 
well known, perhaps, as any road or pro- 
vince in our native country. 

I address not the scholar, the man of 
science, the artist, or the general reader of 
large information. 

My humble aim is to give the aspect of 
what I saw, and the impression it pro- 
duced, for the gratification of those mental 

A 2 



IV PREFACE. 

tastes which are found scattered in the 
world's corners, and are as unpretending, 
and as easily satisfied as my own. 

March 16th. 



INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 



I SAILED from Bombay in an Arab vessel, 
on the 26th December, 1822. It had been 
my intention, when I left Madras, to have 
returned over land by myself; but I met 
at Bombay two officers, bound in the same 
direction, and I gladly joined them ; ano- 
ther arrived and joined us just before we 
put to sea ; this last I had well known in 
Spain, but the others were total strangers. 
I look back upon my chance companions 
with affection and respect. 



^^ 



SCENES 



AND 



IMPRESSIONS 



It was to the rude music of the small 
eastern drum, the noisy cymbal, and the 
lively tambourine, that, with the cry and 
the song of joy, and, with many a pause 
for clapping of the hands and beating of 
the feet, the crew of our Arab vessel 
hoisted her one vast sail, which a s^entle 
breeze from the land, after some heavy 
flappings of the canvass, at length filled, 
and wafted us slowly and steadily from the 
palmy shores of India. 

I had prepared for my return from the 
East with all the hurry of sincere delight, 
yet I did not look back upon the receding 
land without some emotion of regret 

B 



Z VOYAGE TO MOCHA. 

There is much, very much, in that in- 
teresting country to stir the thoughts and 
occupy the mind, especially on a first arrival, 
and for two or three years afterwards. 

While the tall palm, and the huge ele- 
phant, the spreading banyan, and the naked 
Indian, the Moslem, and the idolater, the 
festival, the procession, and the dance, are 
new and unfamiliar things, — it is well. 
But when the eye has seen and the ear 
heard enough, the enervating climate is 
felt in all its power ; in the dulled fancy, 
and the languid mind, and the restless 
longings of the unsatisfied heart ! — Let us 
appreciate then, and justly, the sacrifices 
of those of our fellow-countrymen, who, as 
soldiers, waste their joyless years in that 
remote land with the consciousness of being 
useful indeed, but with little of glory ; as 
civilians, in severe, honourable, and import- 
ant duties ; as ministers of the gospel, in 
labours high and holy, always anxious, ever 
slowly fruitful, and oftentimes altogether 
disappointing. Some of all these classes, 
dearly esteemed by me, do, and may long 



VOYAGE TO MOGHA. 3 

remain behind; but the glance of the mind 
is fleet, and often will it be directed from 
the happier West, to look upon and mingle 
with them in that striking scenery, and 
under those brilliant skies, which, at morn 
and eve, and at the noon of night, form 

the purest solace of the exile in India. — 

i. 

" Now shape we our course for England. 
Beloved soile ; as in site, — ' wholly from 
all the world disjoyned,' so in thy felici- 
ties." 

Our vessel was one, rude and ancient in 
her construction as those, which, in former 
and successive ages, carried the rich freights 
of India for the Ptolemies, the Roman 
prefects, and the Arabian caliphs of Egypt. 
She had, indeed, the wheel and the com- 
pass, and our nakhoda*, with a beard as 
black and long, and a solemnity as great as 
that of a magician, daily performed the 
miracle of taking an observation ; but 
although these " peeping contrivances" of 
the Giaours, have been admitted, yet they 

* Captain—" Lord of th^ ve^;ei»" 
B 2 



^ VOYAGE TO MOCHA. 

build their craft with the same clumsy 
insecurity, and rig them in the same in- 
convenient manner as ever. Our vessel 
had a lofty broad stern, unmanageable in 
wearing ; one enormous sail on a heavy 
yard of immense length, which was tardily 
hoisted by the efforts of some fifty men on 
a stout mast, placed a little before mid- 
ships, and raking forwards ; her head 
low, without any bowsprit ; and, on the 
poop, a mizen uselessly small, with hardly 
canvass enough for a fishing-boat. Our 
lading was cotton, and the bales were piled 
up on her decks to a height at once awk- 
ward and unsafe. In short, she looked 
like part of a wharf, towering with bales, 
accidentally detached from its quay, and 
floating on the waters. 

Providence, however, to whom all the 
Mohammedans trust, rather, indeed, with 
the perverse indolence of the waggoner in 
the fable, seems always to have regarded the 
merchant as the friend of mankind ; and 
thus, from year to year, with favourable 
and gentle gales, over a serene and pleasant 



VOYAGE TO MOCHA. D 

sea, these Arab traders sail, as their fore- 
fathers have done before them, with a 
peaceful feehng of security, which is sel- 
dom disappointed. 

The interior arrangements and the scene 
on board merit a rapid sketch. Under the 
poop deck is one cabin aft, with stern win- 
dows, and one forward, with two ports of a 
side ; this last is, or would have been, open 
to the front, but for the high-piled bales of 
cotton, which with foot and knee, and out- 
spread arm, we had constantly to scale, 
before we could gain the deck. The after 
cabin was the harem ; the starboard side of 
the larger was occupied by the son of the 
owner (a young Arab, of Mocha), a re- 
spectable old Persian gentleman, and his- 
son, a boy ; the larboard side, without 
other separation than some trunks abaft, 
and the wheel forward (for they steered 
below) was our sorry birth. The poop 
presented a livelier scene ; on the after 
part were four banyans or Hindoo traders 
bound to Aden ; on the starboard side 
forward sat our grave nakhoda, on the 

B 3 



b VOYAGE TO MOCHA. 

birth in which he slept, and from which 
day or night he seldom moved — behind 
Jiimj a Turk, a merchant of Mosul — -on the 
other side, four Persians, two from the 
north of Persia, one from the distant and 
sterile Cabul, and another from the far and 
fair Cashmeer, The crew lay scattered over 
the bales in front, all boasting themselves 
Arabs, but differing greatly in features 
and complexion ; the coarse issue of such 
mariners of Africa or Arabia, as settle at 
th§ ports, and man the vessels of either 
shore of the Red Sea : four Siddi men and 
two boys, black as polished ebony, were 
the cooks and musicians ; two servants, 
and two slave boys of the old Persian ; an 
Indian pilgrim from beyond the Ganges ; 
f^nd a Hindoostanee servant of ours made 
ups in all, about seventy souls. 

About an hour before the break of day, 
WQ were generally awakened by the voice 
of our old Persian, who, in a nasal tone, 
with loud and rapid utterance, read, if it 
may be called reading, a large portion of 
the Koran. A little before sunrise, the 



VOYAGE TO MOCHA. 7 

serang * gave the loud call to prayers, and 
all, after a very slight ablution of the hands 
and feet, assembled ; the crew forward, the 
passengers aft ; their faces turned towards 
Mecca. The serang always led their devo- 
tions : the responses were loud and general, 
in a very full manly tone. Soon after this, 
coffee was handed round the poop, in cups 
not larger than egg-cups f, and thin cakes 
of bread. At noon they had a pilau or 
curry ; in the evening the same. The mat 
was spread, the tray set, and, after each 
going to the gang-way, and pouring a httle 
water over the right hand, they squatted in 
circles, the right shoulder inclined a little 
forward, and silently and rapidly despatched 
their meal. J There is little of indulgence, 

* Mate or boatswain. 

f Egg-shells, I might have said, for they are put into 
small brass receivers, like eggs into their cups. 

:}: The crew had plentiful messes of dhourra, or some 
grain, twice a day, with an allowance of ghee ; and we 
observed that dates were served out to them occasionally 
as a kind of favour like grog. The Siddi cook would carry 
a large lump of the rich sweet dates, sticking together like 
tamarinds, to each man. 

B 4 



8 VOYAGE OF MOCHA. 

little of enjoyment in it; but much of an- 
cient simplicity, and of that sacred sociality 
which dipping hands in the same dish once 
implied, and which is still felt among those 
tribes of Arabia, who have been uncorrupted 
by the examples of blood and treachery, with 
which the pages of Asiatic and Turkish 
history are everywhere polluted. 

Our passengers, all of whom were pil- 
grims, patiently and indolently reclined on 
their cots * the whole day. They combed 
their beards, they read the Koran^ they 
combed their beards again ; they smoked, 
they sat cross-legged and motionless, look- 
ing on vacancy ; they slept ; but, even in 
sleep, looked a slow race as if they willed 
nothing. Five times a day the more zea- 
lous, three times the more moderate, per- 
formed their devotions. The young Arab 
owner had some life in him ; now and then 
he would sing an Arabian love song, and 

^ These are mere frames, with a strong net-work made 
of small cordage. They are so fixed as not to swing, and 
often are merely laid down on the deck, or on chests or 
bales, or in any place that offers. 



VOYAGE TO MOCHA. 9 

turn it not unpleasingly ; sometimes he 
would get a group to play at the ring with 
him, a kind of hunt-the-slipper game. One 
of the Persian passengers also had a book* 
of tales with him, which I have seen him 
read of an evening to delighted listeners, in 
a manner the most quaintly, and amusingly 
dramatical. We had little communication 
with them, from the difficulty of making 
ourselves understood ; but the Cashmirian 
told me of his country, its lake, its gardens 
on the house top ; of the goat, from which 
their shawl is made; how it came to them 
from afar ; and how they only used the short 
downy hair next the skin — confessed that 
the borders* of most shawls were joined on, 
though ingeniously ; but that the highest 
priced, and most valuable, were really 
worked in, without any seam. Another, as 
he showed his cloak of sheep-skin, with its 
leather inside dressed like the softest glove, 
spoke of the clear and healthy cold of Can- 
dahar and Cabul ; while his companion, 

* A trifling little point, which is often disputed. 



10 VOYAGE TO MOCHA. 

who had visited Astrachan, was full of the 
liberality of Russian nobles ; the splendour 
of its bazaars ; the Russian infantry ; the 
Tartar horse ; and of the circumstance, by 
him never to be forgotten, of a governor's 
lady having freely given a sum equivalent to 
6000 rupees for two shawls. Seven times, 
the Turk of Mosul said he had visited Istam- 
boul, Haleb, and Ismyr ; and had as often 
traversed the Great Desert with caravans. 
He was a guarded staid man, girded round 
his loins with a broad belt of buff leather, 
and having a robe soiled by travel ; and, in 
features and complexion, he might have 
passed for one born on the banks of the 
Thames or the Rhine. Our Persian was a 
fine handsome old gentleman, with a superb 
beard of a grey, which told of its youthful 
blackness ; had always a word or a gesture 
of courtesy, and was fond of comparing 
watches at the important hour of noon. 
For the crew *, they were idle, happy, 

* They were once ordered overboard to clean the ves- 
sel's side, the only time I saw any of them in the v^'ater. 



VOYAGE TO MOCHA. ] 1 

orderly, and uniformly cheerful : once, and 
then only for a short half hour, was the 
harmony of the vessel disturbed. A Per- 
sian servant had a quarrel with one of the 
sailors, and all rose on him. He ran down 
for his sword ; all tumultuously followed ; 
they were like light straw on fire ; thej^ 
dragged him back as they would have torn 
him limb from limb : the nakhoda and 
serang were unheard. The passengers in- 
terfered (we Christians excepted), and one 
of the northern Persians, a brave little man, 
who trembled and turned pale as his swarth 
cheek would let him, caught up a billet of 
wood and dealt a blow to one of the crew 
with something of sectarian bitterness. 
Matters, however, were soon composed, 
how, I could not learn ; but Mohammed, 
Mohammed, was not unfrequently or gently 
invoked. The crew were menaced by one 



Every one seemed a Triton ; they shouted and trod the 
water, and dived and exulted in the element. Some of 
these very men had been pirates, or Wahabees — men of 
blood. 



SCENES 



AND 



IMPRESSIONS 



It was to the rude music of the small 
eastern drum, the noisy cymbal, and the 
lively tambourine, that, with the cry and 
the song of joy, and, with many a pause 
for clapping of the hands and beating of 
the feet, the crew of our Arab vessel 
hoisted her one vast sail, which a gentle 
breeze froni" the land, after some heavy 
flappings of the canvass, at length filled, 
and wafted us slowly and steadily from the 
palmy shores of India. 

I had prepared for my return from the 
East with all the hurry of sincere delight, 
yet I did not look back upon the receding 
land without some emotion of regret. 



Z VOYAGE TO MOCHA, 

There is much, very much, in that in- 
teresting country to stir the thoughts and 
occupy the mind, especially on a first arrival, 
and for two or three vears afterwards. 

While the tall palm, and the huge ele- 
phant, the spreading banyan, and the naked 
Indian, the Moslem, and the idolater, the 
festival, the procession, and the dance, are 
new and unfamiliar things, — it is well. 
But when the eye has seen and the ear 
heard enough, the enervating climate is 
felt in all its power ; in the dulled fancy, 
and the languid mind, and the restless 
longings of the unsatisfied heart ! — Let us 
appreciate then, and justly, the sacrifices 
of those of our fellow-countrymen, who, as 
soldiers, waste their joyless years in that 
remote land with the consciousness of being 
useful indeed, but with little of glory ; as 
civilians, in severe, honourable, and import- 
ant duties ; as ministers of the gospel, in 
labours high and holy, always anxious, ever 
slowly fruitful, and oftentimes altogether 
disappointing. Some of all these classes, 
dearly esteemed by me, do, and may long 



VOYAGE TO MOGHA. 3 

remain behind; but the glance of the mind 
is fleet, and often will it be directed from 
the happier West, to look upon and mingle 
with them in that striking scenery, and 
under those brilliant skies, which, at liiorn 
and eve, and at the noon of night, form 
the purest solace of the exile in India. — 
" Now shape we our course for England. 
Beloved soile ; as in site, — ' wholly from 
all the world disjoyned,' so in thy felici- 
ties." 

Our vessel was one, rude and ancient in 
her construction as those, which, in former 
and successive ages, carried the rich freights 
of India for the Ptolemies, the Roman 
prefects, and the Arabian caliphs of Egypt. 
She had, indeed, the wheel and the com- 
pass, and our nakhoda*, with a beard M 
black and long, and a solemnity as great as 
that of a magician, daily performed the 
miracle of taking an observation ; but 
although these " peeping contrivances" of 
the Giaours, have been admitted, yet they 

* Gaptaki— ** Lord of th<6 vessei*" 
B 2 



^ VOYAGE TO MOCHA. 

build their craft with the same clumsy 
insecurity, and rig them in the same in- 
convenient manner as ever. Our vessel 
had a lofty broad stern, unmanageable in 
wearing ; one enormous sail on a heavy 
yard of immense length, which was tardily 
hoisted by the efforts of some fifty men on 
a stout mast, placed a little before mid- 
ships, and raking forwards ; her head 
low, without any bowsprit; and, on the 
poop, a mizen uselessly small, with hardly 
canvass enough for a fishing-boat. Our 
lading was cotton, and the bales were piled 
up on her decks to a height at once awk- 
ward and unsafe. In short, she looked 
like part of a wharf, towering with bales, 
accidentally detached from its quay, and 
floating on the waters. 

Providence, however, to whom all the 
Mohammedans trust, rather, indeed, with 
the perverse indolence of the waggoner in 
the fable, seems always to have regarded the 
merchant as the friend of mankind ; and 
thus, from year to year, with favourable 
and gentle gales, over a serene and pleasant 



VOYAGE TO MOCHA. 5 

sea, these Arab traders sail, as their fore- 
fathers have done before them, with a 
peaceful feeling of security, which is sel- 
dom disappointed. 

The interior arrangements and the scene 
on board merit a rapid sketch. Under the 
poop deck is one cabin aft, with stern win- 
dows, and one forward, with two ports of a 
side ; this last is, or would have been, open 
to the front, but for the high-piled bales of 
cotton, which with foot and knee, and out- 
spread arm, we had constantly to scale, 
before we could gain the deck. The after 
cabin was the harem ; the starboard side of 
the larger was occupied by the son of the 
owner (a young Arab, of Mocha), a re- 
spectable old Persian gentleman, and his- 
sion, a boy ; the larboard side, without 
other separation than some trunks abaft, 
and the wheel forward (for they steered 
below) was our sorry birth. I'he poop 
presented a livelier scene ; on the after 
part were four banyans or Hindoo traders 
bound to Aden ; on the starboard side 
forward sat our grave nakhoda, on the 

B 3 



b VOYAGE TO MOCHA. 

birth in which he slept, and from which 
day or night he seldom moved — behind 
him, a Turk, a merchant of Mosul — -on the 
other side, four Persians, two from the 
north of Persia, one from the distant and 
sterile Cabul, and another from the far and 
fair Cashmeer, The crew lay scattered over 
the bales in front, all boasting themselves 
Arabs, but differing greatly in features 
and complexion ; the coarse issue of such 
mariners of Africa or Arabia, as settle at 
th§ ports, and man the vessels of either 
shore of the Red Sea : four Siddi men and 
two boys, black as polished ebony, were 
the cooks and musicians ; two servants, 
and two slave boys of the old Persian ; an 
Indian pilgrim from beyond the Ganges ; 
^nd a Hindoostanee servant of ours made 
up, in all, about seventy souls. 

About an hour before the break of day, 
wq were generally awakened by the voice 
of our old Persian, who, in a nasal tone, 
with loud and rapid utterance, read, if it 
may be called reading, a large portion of 
the Koran. A little before sunrise, the 



VOYAGE TO MOCHA. / 

serang * gave the loud call to prayers, and 
all, after a very slight ablution of the hands 
and feet, assembled ; the crew forward, the 
passengers aft ; their faces turned towards 
Mecca. The serang always led their devo- 
tions : the responses were loud and general, 
in a very full manly tone. Soon after this, 
coffee was handed round the poop, in cups 
not larger than egg-cups f, and thin cakes 
of bread. At noon they had a pilau or 
curry ; in the evening the same. The mat 
was spread, the tray set, and, after each 
going to the gang-way, and pouring a little 
water over the right hand, they squatted in 
circles, the right shoulder inclined a little 
forward, and silently and rapidly despatched 
their meal.lt^ There is little of indulgence, 

* Mate or boatswain. 

t Egg-shells, I might have said, for they are put into 
small brass receivers, like eggs into their cups. 

ij: The crew had plentiful messes of dhourra, or some 
grain, twice a day, with an allowance of ghee ; and we 
observed that dates were served out to them occasionally 
as a kind of favour like grog. The Siddi cook would carry 
a large lump of the rich sweet dates, sticking together like 
tamarinds, to each man. 

B 4 



8 VOYAGE OF MOCHA. 

little of enjoyment in it ; but much of an- 
cient simplicity, and of that sacred sociality 
which dipping hands in the same dish once 
implied, and which is still felt among those 
tribes of Arabia, who have been uncorrupted 
by the examples of blood and treachery, with 
which the pages of Asiatic and Turkish 
history are everywhere polluted. 

Our passengers, all of whom were pil- 
grims, patiently and indolently reclined on 
their cots * the whole day. They combed 
their beards, they read the Koran^ they 
combed their beards again ; they smoked, 
they sat cross-legged and motionless, look- 
ing on vacancy ; they slept ; but, even in 
sleep, looked a slow race as if they willed 
nothing. Five times a day the more zea- 
lous, three times the more moderate, per- 
formed their devotions. The young Arab 
owner had some life in him ; now and then 
he would sing an Arabian love song, and 

*- These are mere frames, with a strong net-work made 
of small cordage. They are so fixed as not to swing, and 
often are merely laid down on the deck, or on chests or 
bales, or in any place that ofFei's. 



VOYAGE TO MOCHA. 9 

turn it not unpleasingly ; sometimes he 
would get a group to play at the ring with 
him, a kind of hunt-the-slipper game. One 
of the Persian passengers also had a book 
of tales with him, which I have seen him 
read of an evening to delighted listeners, in 
a manner the most quaintly, and amusingly 
dramatical. We had little communication 
with them, from the difficulty of making 
ourselves understood ; but the Cashmirian 
told me of his country, its lake, its gardens 
on the house top ; of the goat, from which 
their shawl is made ; how it came to them 
from afar ; and how they only used the short 
downy hair next the skin — confessed that 
the borders* of most shawls were joined on, 
though ingeniously ; but that the highest 
priced, and most valuable, were really 
worked in, without any seam. Another, as 
he showed his cloak of sheep-skin, with its 
leather inside dressed like the softest glove, 
spoke of the clear and healthy cold of Can- 
dahar and Cabul ; while his companion, 

* A trifling little point, which is often disputed. 



10 VOYAGE TO MOCHA. 

who had visited Astrachan, was full of the 
liberality of Russian nobles ; the splendour 
of its bazaars ; the Russian infantry ; the 
Tartar horse ; and of the circumstance, by 
him never to be forgotten, of a governor's 
lady having freely given a sum equivalent to 
6000 rupees for two shawls. Seven times, 
the Turk of Mosul said he had visited Istam- 
boul, Haleb, and Ismyr ; and had as often 
traversed the Great Desert with caravans. 
He was a guarded staid man, girded round 
his loins with a broad belt of buff leather, 
and having a robe soiled by travel ; and, in 
features and complexion, he might have 
passed for one born on the banks of the 
Thames or the Rhine. Our Persian was a 
fine handsome old gentleman, with a superb 
beard of a grey, which told of its youthful 
blackness ; had always a word or a gesture 
of courtesy, and was fond of comparing 
watches at the important hour of noon. 
For the crew *, they were idle, happy, 

* They were once ordered overboard to clean the ves- 
sel's side, the only time I saw any of them in the water. 



VOYAGE TO MOCHA. ] 1 

orderly, and uniformly cheerful : once, and 
then only for a short half hour, was the 
harmony of the vessel disturbed. A Per- 
sian servant had a quarrel with one of the 
sailors, and all rose on him. He ran down 
for his sword ; all tumultuously followed ; 
they were like light straw on fire ; they 
dragged him back as they would have torn 
him limb from limb : the nakhoda and 
serang were unheard. The passengers in- 
terfered (we Christians excepted), and one 
of the northern Persians, a brave little man, 
who trembled and turned pale as his swarth 
cheek would let him, caught up a billet of 
wood and dealt a blow to one of the crew 
with something of sectarian bitterness. 
Matters, however, were soon composed, 
how, I could not learn ; but Mohammed, 
Mohammed, was not unfrequently or gently 
invoked. The crew were menaced by one 



Every one seemed a Triton ; they shouted and trod the 
water, and dived and exulted in the element- Some of 
these very men had been pirates, or Wahabees — men of 
blood. 



1^. VOYAGE TO MOCHA. 

nakhoda, and pacified by the other * ; and 
Httle marks were there of the fray in half 
an hour afterwards, save the torn robes and 
sullen looks of the Persian servant, and the 
flashing eyes of some of the Arabs. I must, 
however, except one sound, the shrill angry 
voice of an enraged woman, who, it seems, 
was the wife of the Persian, and who was 
abusing the Arabs and reproaching her 
master the whole evening. I was the more 
surprised at this, as a very remarkable cir- 
cumstance had occurred in the harem, and 
one marking very strongly its entire seclu- 
sion : a woman had died on board, and 
been committed to the sea two days before 
we even knew it, and then it was by the 
merest accident that our servant — he daily 
conversed with the sailors — became ac- 
quainted with it. Not even a husband 
entered during the passage, because the 
women were mixed : a eunuch, who cooked 
for them, alone had access. 

It must be confessed that our accommo- 

* The young owner. 



VOYAGE TO MOCHA. 13 

dations were sorry indeed, being neither 
private, clean, or airy ; yet, from the charm 
of novelty, we were all gratified with the 
voyage. We had our own resources — our 
books, a chessboard, our quiet and social 
meals, our talk. 

Abundantly was I amused in looking 
upon the scenes around me, and some there 
were not readily to be forgotten : • — when, 
at the soft and still hour of sunset, while 
the full sail presses down the vessel's bows 
on the golden ocean-path, which swells to 
meet, and then sinks beneath them, — then, 
when these Arabs group for their evening 
sacrifice, bow down with their faces to the 
earth, and prostrate their bodies in the 
act of worship — when the broad ameen, 
deeply intoned from many assembled 
voices, strikes upon the listener's ear — the 
heart responds, and throbs with its own 
silent prayer. There is a solemnity and a 
decency in their worship belonging, in its 
very forms, to the age and the country of 
the Patriarchs ; and it is necessary to call 
to mind all that the Mohammedans are, and 



14 ARABIA. 

have been — all that their prophet taught, 
and that their Koran enjoins and promises, 
before we can look, without being strongly 
moved, on the Mussulman * prostrate be- 
fore his God. 

Most pleasantly we sailed upon the 
smooth waters : ay, reader, and enjoyed 
the " moonlight upon Oman's sea." It was 
at early dawn, on the twelfth day, that we 
first made the high land of Arabia the 
Happy all shrouded in the veil of morning. 
The rising sun soon showed the savage 
coast 

" Barren and bare ; unsightly, unadorned." 

No grass of the rock, no flower of the 
heath, no shrub, no bird, no look of life. 
Cape Morbat was the point we first made, 
and we coasted it thence to the Bay of 
Aden, making, in succession, the land of 
Fartakh, Siout, Bogashoua, and Maculla ; 
near the last spot we did see a boat or two 

* The Arab sailors of Mocha are very observant of 
all the solemn decencies of their worship. 



ARABIA, 



stealing along the shore ; but the features 
of the coast were uniform— dark, waste, 
wild ; the rocks not very lofty, black, and 
scorched at their summits ; here, craggy and 
broken, with the waves dashing at their 
feet ; there, smoother, with brown and arid 
sides, and with beds or belts of yellow sand 
below. Such is the aspect of Araby the 
Blest; and for 1800 miles from the point 
we first made to the shores of Midian, in 
the Gulf of Acaba, there is little, very 
little variety. Like the rough and russet 
coat of the Persian pomegranate, which 
gives little promise of the rich and crimson 
pulp within, so Arabia, all forbidding as she 
looks, can boast of Yemen and her spark- 
ling springs ; of her frankincense and pre- 
cious gums, her spices and coffee berries, 
her luscious dates, and her honey of the 
rock : but the streams which descend from 
those fertile regions never reach the sea, 
they are drunk up by the sands ; and the 
long line of coast, excepting three or four 
spots where the merchant and the mariner 
have found a haven, or where some pas- 



16 BAY OF ADEN. 

toral tribe has dug a well, is but a burning 
solitude. 

For half a day we dropped anchor in the 
back bay of Aden, but, as we were six miles 
from the town, our nakhoda did not wish 
us to go on shore-— our Hindoo passengers 
were landed, and two Arabs came off to 
the vessel. One was a soldier in the service 
of the dowlah of Aden, a short well-set 
man, with the black eye, clear brown cheek, 
and ivory teeth of his country ; a small 
black turban on his thickly flowing hair ; a 
dark blue shirt of cotton, a rudely studded 
belt, with cartridges and powder-horn ; 
a matchlock in his hand, and a sword by 
his side. He scarce looked upon us ; his 
companion, a younger man, with two long 
brown curls, waving to every movement, 
gazed at us, however, the whole time he 
was below, with fixed and unsated astonish- 
ment, especially at two, who were deeply 
engaged over the chessboard. 

The scenery of this bay was of a very 
wild, savage character, the rocks black 
and ragged. It blew fresh too, and was 



BAY OF ADEN. 17 

cloudy, and the whole picture was darkly 
beautiful. 

Very ancient is the tribe of Ad, deriving 
their name from Adnan; in a direct descent 
from Ishmael, and there are magical recol- 
lections connected with the neighbouring 
deserts, which the lover of poetry will not 
fail to call to mind, for hidden in their 
solitudes lie the gardens of Iram, and the 
palace of Shedad, and that silent city where 
Colabah passed his night of wonder. 

It was a bright, a laughingly bright day, 
when, with a fine fair breeze, we sailed 
through the Gate of Tears*, for so did the 
ancient Arabs name those narrow^ straits 
at the mouth of the Red Sea, regarded by 
their early navigators as so perilous, and 
so often indeed fatal to their inexperience. 

We had a sail in company here, and 
loud and joyous was the greeting between 
the crews, as we both cast anchor in a little 
bay, just within the lesser Bab, by which 
we entered. From this anchorage, and, 
indeed, all the morning, while making for. 



Babelmandel. 

c 



18 MOCHA. 

and passing the straits, we had the black 
lofty shore of Africa in view, with its Cape 
of Burials, for to the fancy of the ancient 
Arab, " the shrill Spirit of the storm sat 
dim" upon the rocky brow of Cape Guada- 
fui, and " enjoyed the death of the mariner." 

We ran down upon Mocha with a full sail 
on the following morning. The town looks 
white and cheerful, the houses lofty, and 
have a square, solid appearance ; the road- 
stead is almost open, being only protected 
by two narrow spits of sand, on one of 
which is a round castle, and on the other 
an insignificant fort. A date grove adjoins 
the city, and extends nearly two miles 
along the southern beach; a pleasing ob- 
ject for the eye to repose upon, which is 
fatigued, if you gaze, in any other direction, 
by one unvarying picture of brown and 
desolate sterility. 

So far from the seaports of Arabia and 
India resembling each other, to the com- 
monly observant eye, the contrast is strik- 
ing. You have turbans and loose garments, 
but they are different both in fashion and 



MOCHA. 19 

materials. You have brown and black 
complexions ; you have the clothed and 
the naked ; but they differ both in feature, 
form, and gesture, from those whom you 
have left behind. Under the coarse awnings 
of its narrow bazaars, you meet the well- 
dressed merchants in robes of woollen 
cloth, and from above the folds of the 
snow-white turban, you see a red woollen 
cap, with a tassel of purple silk. At every 
step you meet the black, the half-naked 
Abyssinian, straight as the young areca, 
with a nose sufficiently prominent to give 
expression to his features, and having his 
curled woolly hair dyed with a reddish 
yellow, the foppery of his country. Then 
there is the stout Arab porter, in his coarse 
brown garment, bowing under a heavy load 
of dates, the matting all oozing, and clam- 
my with the luscious burden. Lastly, you 
have the Bedouin, with the hue of the 
desert on his cheek, the sinewy limb, the 
eye dark and fiery. He hath a small tur- 
ban, a close-bodied vest, a coarse sash,, all 
of dull colours ; the arm, the leg, are bare; 

c' 2 



20 MOCHA, 

the brown bosom open to the sun and 
wind ; sandals on his feet ; a broad straight 
two-edged sword^ in his hand ; a long and 
ready poniard in his girdle. For the cold 
night-wind he has a cloak of goats' hair, or 
black, or white, or made in long broad 
stripes of both colours. He walks erect, 
and moves directly to his front, giving 
place to none. Though everywhere sur- 
rounded by Turkish or Persian despots, nay, 
though there be towns, and imaums, and 
dowlahs, in Arabia itself, he looks, and he 
can boast, that he is personally free. Ideal 
is the happiness of savage life ; but it is im- 
possible to look, without admiring wonder, 
on men who contentedly proclaim the 
sandy plain and naked rock their patri- 
mony, have no dwelling but the tent, no 
intrenchment but the sword, no law but 
the traditionary song of their bards, no 

* When our expedition from Bombay to the Arabian 
coast of the Persian Gulf encountered the Beni Bu Ali 
tribe, they were attacked sword in hand in the most 
resolute and intrepid manner by the Arabs, who fought 
on foot with long straight swords, often wielding them 
with both hands. 



MOCHA. 21 

government* but the aged sheick of their 
tribe. When I contrast this their noble 
preference of a sohtary and savage inde- 
pendence to the hfe led by those, who 
slumber under Turkish masters in cities, 
always polluted by crime, and often dis- 
turbed by terror, with much to pity in 
their condition, and much to condemn in 
their conduct, I find everything to admire 
in their choice. 

Other objects in these bazaars attract 
your gaze. Long strings of camels and 
asses, the large coarse sheep of Abyssinia, 
the small thin species of Arabia, the tall 
brown goats ; the shops of the armour- 
ers, with their long polished sword-blades, 
daggers, spears, matchlocks, and here and 
there the half-worn shield of other days ; 
then there are the cook-shops, with their 
hot cakes of bread, and their large coppers 
with portions of meat and fowls, swim- 
ming in ghee, and ready for the traveller; 

* Ali Pasha's troops, whenever they ascended the 
rugged hills of the Hedjaz, could effect nothing against 
these men, 

c 3 



22 MOCHA. 

and, a step further, the caravanseras and 
coffee-houses, with groups of townsmen 
and traders reclining on couches of the 
date leaf, smoking tl^eir small hookahs*, 
sipping their kishuf, and perpetually strok- 
ing their long beards.- — We received every 
attention from our resident, who procured 
a house for us during our stay. The 
houses here are generally built of coral 
stone, and, in part, of sun-baked brick, 
whitewashed ; have the central court, ter- 
raced roof, and divan window ; that is, the 
recess filled by a low seat, which, covered 
with a carpet, and provided with cushions, 
is the place of honour. Our upper room 
had several small circular fan-lights, with 
various-coloured glass disposed in very 
small panes, producing the fantastic effect 
of the kaleidoscope. 

In the course of our rambles we dis- 
covered that the large date grove, from its 

* Made of the bowls of cocoa nut, polished, and 
ornamented with brass. 

f Made of the shell instead of the berry, drank from 
economy, though they say not. 



MOCHA. 



23 



unfavourable site and soil, produced no 
fruit. All the houses, however, in the 
suburbs of Mocha, are built of a matting 
or thatch of its strong leaves, and they 
have a very neat, compact, and, when new, 
very pretty appearance : all are circular, 
with walls of a good height, and a coni- 
cally rising rounded top. There are three 
suburbs : one occupied by common Arab 
labourers ; one by Abyssinian mariners and 
traders of the Mohammedan persuasion ; 
and one, a small, separate, avoided cluster, 
by an oppressed and shrinking race, a 
remnant of the tribe of Judah. I took a 
solitary walk to their quarter — -the call of 
" Yacoob" struck upon my ear as I passed the 
first enclosure : there was a doubting glance 
from a half-opened wicket, and, at length, 
a young man, of about twenty, with curling 
hair, black as the raven's wing, came out, 
and another, looking like a less handsome 
brother, and an old man followed, with his 
hair, all blanched as it was, falling in a 
long curl on each thin and withered cheek. 
I had but a broken word of greeting for 

c 4 



24 MOCHA. 

them ; but though I looked confused, kind 
I am sure I looked, for I felt so. The 
elder sent the younger away, who soon 
returned, bringing with him a stout, dark 
man, with a rough look, as of one fa- 
miliar with toil and travel. He addressed 
me in Hindoostanee, and then I could 
make myself understood : but what had I 
to say? nothing — but that I was an Eng- 
lishman, a traveller, that their sacred 
volume was to me sacred also ; that I 
should like to see their synagogue, and 
their worship : every eye gave the kind 
glance of ready consent. On the Saturday 
following I went. The synagogue was 
small, of mud, a sort of book-stand in the 
midst, and a square hole in the wall oppo- 
site for the copies of their law, before 
which hung a mean curtain ; some poor 
lamps hung from the roof, but were not 
lighted : the rabbi stood, or sat, close to 
the wall ; at the desk, two children, of 
about thirteen, (one a girl,) read from the 
Scriptures in succession : the rabbi also 
read and prayed. The congregation did 



MOCHA, 25 

not consist of above forty, and only three 
women were present, who had each a child 
in her arms. These infants were marked 
on the forehead and chin with black, blue, 
and yellow lines, as those of the Arabs 
are. I observed that they were all handed 
about, especially to the elders, and kissed 
affectionately. As to the form of their 
service — it was very long ; the congrega- 
tion sit and read with that sawing motion 
common to Mohammedans, Parsees, Brah- 
mins, and all Orientals : in reverence they 
stand; in responses, especially in theAmeen 
and Hallelujah, they rise on the fore part 
of their feet ; in adoration and confession 
they sit first, then lean forward, bow down 
the head, and kiss the dust. At one part 
of the service nine went and ranged them- 
selves against the wall near the rabbi, and 
turned towards the congregation ; then 
they veiled their heads, and as the rabbi 
paused in what he read, they raised their 
arms and stretched then:i forth with a 
solemn motion, first to the right side, and 
then brought them sloxdy across the body 



I 



26 MOCHA. 

to the left, and uttered responses of wailing 
and lamentation, mournfully sad.* Myself 
and my companion had seated ourselves 
on the mat in their fashion, and it was 
evident that they took pleasure to see 
strangers, and not despising strangers with- 
in their gates. One exception there was, 
too remarkable not to attract our notice, 
and, for a moment, till reassured by looks 
and gestures, to discompose us. A very 
old man, with a pale face shrouded in his 
mantle, came tottering in late, and seated 
himself; the unaccustomed sight caught 
his restless eye, and with a voice feebly 
shrill, and tremulously angry, he seemed 
to chide those around him for the profa- 
nation. It was not immediately that they 
could explain matters and pacify him, and 
then he sunk back into his shroud, and 
into the fixed apathetic gaze of dotage. 

The Jew is looked upon, at Mocha, 
with an evil eye ; suffering is, here, the 

* As far as I could understand what they told me, 
I believe, but I am not certain, that it was a lamentation 
for the idolatry of Aaron, near Mount Sinai. 



MOCHA. 27 

badge of their poor tribe ; the Arab may 
spit upon, and strike them : they are not 
allowed to wear a turban. They gain a 
livelihood by working as ' goldsmiths and 
jewellers, and it is said, and I believe truly, 
that they have private stills, and retail 
spirits to the less orthodox Mussulmans. 
Their best excuse for this unworthy prac- 
tice is, that money they must gain, for the 
possession of money, with the appearance 
of poverty, form the present security, and 
the ever-ready and only defence of the 
wretched Jew ; hence he is always stig- 
matised as usurious and covetous : the hot 
and haughty Mussulman stealing to the 
poor dwelling of the cold and self-denying 
Jew, to break his prophet's law, and show 
himself the slave of a sin so mean, fur- 
nishes to the mind no common picture. 

We strolled one evening to the well, 
about two miles from the city, for no water 
fit for drinking is to be procured nearer ; 
the water of those who can afford it, comes 
from one yet five miles farther off, and the 



28 MOCHA. 

wealthiest inhabitants send to a spring 
twenty miles distant. 

The neighbourhood of a well at even- 
tide, in Arabia, is no unpleasing scene ; it 
is repose, perfect repose ; the brimming 
troughs, the kneeling camels, the way- 
worn travellers. No animal looks so much 
at rest, or seems to enjoy it more than the 
kneeling camel, and nowhere does the 
tired wanderer throw out his limbs, or 
spread his arms behind his recumbent head, 
in a better posture for the full enjoyment 
of that indolently luxurious feeling, which 
follows upon fatigue, than the Arab driver. 

But, think, reader, of a country where the 
waters are sold ; here, at this brackish well, 
a sum is paid for the very horse which is 
led forth for his draught, and for each 
water-skin and pitcher there is a trifling 
charge. 

Passing from hence, we crossed the 
potter's field, with its mounds of broken 
sherds, and numbers of newly moulded 
vessels just put out to dry. In our walk 



MOCHA. 29 

home, we observed many vigorous, active 
young men, naked to the loins, playing at 
a game something like our prison-bars : 
they are a fine race here, men 

" To wrestle, run, and cast the stone, 

With nimble strength, and fair delivery." 

Here also a group of handsome, fearless 
children came running after us for co- 
mashees *, all singing '' Nakhoda, nak- 
hoda," (the title they always give English- 
men,) in merry and cheerful repetition. 

We visited the dowlah during our stay 
at Mocha, and afterwards saw him return 
from the mosque, in such petty state as his 
rank and means admit of. 

There was a guard f at the entrance of 
his mansion, and another half-way up the 
narrow staircase; the dowlah stood up, and 
shook hands. There were some old chairs 
placed for us ; the apartment was mean ; 



* Small coins." 

■f Turkish and Arab guards all sit in their guard- 
rooms, alternately smoking, drinking coffee, and sleep- 
ing ; the very sentry, if there is one, sits cross-legged 
at his post. 



30 MOCHA. 

a stand in the centre with several hookahs ; 
some matchlocks hung upon the wall ; a 
few attendant soldiers, and one huge black; 
coffee was served, also kishu. The resident 
went with us ; there was nothing said be- 
yond the usual compliments : we were 
perfumed with frankincense, sprinkled ^vith 
rose-water, and dismissed with the same 
forms as at our entrance. 

The reader, who might attach to the 
station and rank of governor a something 
of dignity and freedom, will learn, with a 
smile, that the dowlah of Mocha is a black 
Abyssinian slave, not at all striking in his 
figure or appearance^ or in any way re- 
markable ; but, we were told, quiet, and 
civil to the Europeans, and not oppressive 
to the people. He has not the power of 
life and death, or of entering on hostilities 
without applying to the imaum of Senna, 
in whose family he was a slave, and whose 
authority he represents. 

Nothing is more striking in the character 
of slavery among the Arabs, Turks, and 
other Asiatics, than that it is a very com- 



MOCHA. 31 

mon road to places of trust, dignity, and 
power ; how very different might be the 
fortunes of two African boys, torn from the 
same savannah, and sold one to our colonies 
in the west, and the other marched across 
the desert, to the slave-marts of the east ? 

The black slaves, though they are often 
treated with confidence, loaded with wealth, 
and given military rank, are not^ in many 
instances, thus distinguished ; but from 
slaves of Georgian, or Greek parentage, 
seized, captured, or purchased, and educated 
with that view, it is well known, that the 
highest offices in the state and army, 
throughout the Turkish dominions, are 
almost invariably supplied. 

From a window in the square, we saw 
the dowlah return from the mosque. He 
rode a beautiful little iron-grey, and was 
accompanied by about half a dozen per- 
sons, well dressed, and of some condition, 
and the like number of attendants, mounted 
on wretched horses, and meanly clothed. 
A large band of that regular Arab infantry 
which forms the garrison, followed : their 



32 MOCHA. 

costume is plain ; a common blue shirt, 
small dark turbans ; a rude body-belt for 
their cartridges, and a priming horn. They 
marched in a wide front, their matchlocks 
sloped upon their shoulders, their free 
hands grasping the fore-arms of their 
comrades, and they sung in loud chorus 
some war-song of their country. When 
the dowlah bridled up at the gateway of his 
residence, these men ranged themselves on 
one side of the square, their rear rank 
considerably behind their front, and fired 
three volleys in the air, retiring every time 
to the wall to load. The dowlah now in- 
dulged us with a little exhibition of his 
own horsemanship, and address v/ith the 
lance. He encountered three of his suite 
in succession, engaging them in a manner 
quiet, even to tameness. It is not, how- 
ever, unpleasing to mark, in how veri/ 
small a space the combatants will circle ; 
to see the lances lightly poised, with the 
points dropped low, and close to each 
other, to see the eye steadily fixed, and, at 
times, the sudden turn of the steed, and 



MOCHA. 33 

lifting of the lance, and to mark the feint, 
the ready recovery, the close following up, 
and then the circling as before. 

The variety in their costumes, for there 
were not two robes of a colour, and the 
ease with which they seemed to move in 
these loose garments, now filling with, now 
flying from the wind, gave a grace and ani- 
mation to the picture, but one trifling cir- 
cumstance added to the sceoe, in my eye, a 
very peculiar charm. Two of the horses 
had frontlets, or regular head-armour* of 
polished steel. Now there can be little 
doubt that these were old heir-looms, 
fashioned long centuries ago ; and without 
any great stretch of the imagination, we 
may suppose them to have glittered in the 
van of Arabian armies, and given bright 
warning of the battle hour to the Templar 
and the Hospitaller, as they looked forth 
from the tall battlement, reposed in the 

* Thick plates of steel covering the head in its 
length and breadth, and standing well out from the 
skin to prevent ajar or bruise. 

D 



34 VOYAGE IN (£ME RED SEA. 

open camp, or irode "aye ready for the 
field" on the scorched plains of Pales- 
tine. 

After much trouble with different appli- 
cants, all of whom were alike solicitous to 
let us a vessel, and alike determined to make 
.u« pay heavily, we engaged a fine khanja, 
called the Saaba (or Cloud), to convey us to 
Kosseir ; we also hired as servant and in- 
terpreter, a fine Arab youth, who had 
been much about the American factory in 
his boyhood, and enjoyed the rare advan- 
tage of learning our language at that early 
age. As far as he knew it, he pronounced 
it not only well, but with a peculiarly 
pleasing accent. The day before we took 
our departure, this young Arab was 
married. An advance of twenty dollars 
provided his wedding feast, and the apparel 
of his bride : and, after an absence of 
eighteen hours, he returned in wedding 
garments, with a new sabre, of which 
he was not a little vain, and cheerfully 
prepared for the voyage. The same even- 
ing we embarked, and sailed away from 



VOYAGE IN THE RED SEA. S5 

Mocha. Our vessel* was delightfully cool, 
airy, convenient, and entirely to ourselves. 
We had a nakhoda, a pilot, and about 
twenty seamen, and we had allowed a mes- 
senger, returning Djidda, whence he had 
been sent with despatches for our resident, 
to embark with us. 

This first night we sailed throughout, 
and dropped anchor the next afternoon, 
near the little rocky isle of Kamaran : the 
following day we ran past Loheia, and 
again anchored at sunset ; this, in fact, af- 
terwards was the regular custom. We were 
thirteen days running to Djidda ; the navi- 
gation is intricate, the shoals of coral 
numerous, but the waters smooth, and 
clear as pilot could desire ; 'twas beautiful 
to look down into this brightly transparent 
sea, and mark the coral here in large 



* These sort of boats, though very large, are without 
any deck, save a Httle on the bows and that of the fi'ont, 
awning, under which is the cabin, open to the front, 
without ports or windows, but with a neat open work 
at the sides, superior to either for hght, air, and cheer- 
fulness. 

D 2 



L 



36 VOYAGE IN THE RED SEA. 

masses of honeycombed rock, there in light 
branches of a pale-red hue, and the beds of 
green seaweed, and the golden sand, and 
the shells, and the fish sporting round your 
vessel, and making colours, of a beauty to 
your eye, which is not their own. 

Twice or thrice we ran on after dark 
for an hour or two, and though we were all 
familiar with the " sparkling of the sea 
round the boat of night," never have I seen 
it, in other waters, so superlatively splendid. 
A rope dipped in it, and drawn forth, 
came up as a string of gems, but with a 
light, and life, and motion, the diamond 
does not know. 

At a place called Camfidia, we landed, 
and had little satisfaction for our trouble. 
We got into our small boat, and rowed for 
the shore ; but, as she soon grounded, we 
had to wade some hundred yards through 
the water. The town appeared a miserable, 
ruined place, with a broken-down wall. 
We were not allowed to enter, but took a 
walk and run on the beach. Here some 
rouo^h-looking fellows, armed, came and 



VOYAGE IN THE RED SEA. 37 

told our Arab youth that the sultaun, as 
they termed the slave, who ruled this petty 
fishing port, ordered us to our vessel, as he 
never suffered Christians to land there. 
They had insult, and even menace in their 
manner : we walked back, but with that 
leisure pace, that tone, and those smiles 
which belong to stifled vexation. A few 
minutes after the dowlah repented, and 
sent to invite us in, but it was now our 
turn to decline ; so, with naked limbs, we 
splashed our way back to the boat, over- 
taken by part of our smiling, good-tempered 
crew, who had been to the bazaar ; and 
consoled by our young Arab, who, with 
the amusing air of a Mocha citizen, said 
they were a poor, ignorant race, and go- 
verned by an African black. Abdallah, 
however, the messenger, not a little di- 
verted us, for he came on board boasting 
that he had quarrelled with the dowlah 
about us, had been threatened with the 
bastinado, and had, in his turn, threatened 
to bring down the vengeance of pashas 

D 3 



38 VOYAGE IN T^HE RED l^A. 

and agas, and I know not whom', upon 
this poor governor. 

Abdallah was a strange being, quite a 
character ; his father had been a Turk, 
his mother an Arab, and he born an 
Alexandriote ; in his boyhood having Kved 
with an EngHsh officer, when our troops 
were in Egypt, and, as a man, having long 
served as a spy, and letter-carrier for Ali 
Pasha ; a large, dark fellow, familiar with 
the tossing wave, and the sandy camel 
path, talking such broken language as would 
make him intelligible be driven where he 
might ; a slave to no fears in risking his 
neck for money, and to no prejudices of 
faith, custom, or country, in seeking the 
pleasures which it afforded ; though a ser- 
vant himself, he had a poor fellow as his, 
named, I remember, Mouseh (Moses), and 
this ancient name he was continually voci- 
ferating, now for dates, now coffee and the 
pipe, and, not unfrequently, for the less 
orthodox indulgence of good strong brandy. 

Deducting largely from the truth of them, 
he made us smile at some of his tales and 



VOYAGE IN THE RED SEA. 30^ 

adventures, having travelled, as he told us^. 
half over the Turkish dominions in Greece, 
in Italy, in France, and in England^that is,, 
at Gibraltar ! 

We found it necessary, though, to keep 
him at a distance; and, by doing so, caused 
him to behave very respectfully, and with? 
propriety. 

We had very few opportunities of going 
on shore, as we generally anchored for the 
night behind some coral reef a mile or two 
from it. One evening we ran in somewhat 
nearer, at the point called Ras el Askar, and 
quite threaded our way between rocks and 
shoals, xinchoring ground there was none,, 
but our amphibious mariners, with five 
slight grappling hooks, soon made us a se- 
cure riding. The sight here of some slopes^ 
rising from the shore, and of a spreading 
plain beyond, thinly covered with herb- 
age, that seemed to struggle for existence 
against the barren soil it broke from, but 
made not verdant, attracting our gaze, we 
soon discovered a camel or two, a few strag- 
gling cattle, some goats, and the form of a 

D 4 



40 VOYAGE IN THE RED SEA. 

man. We put out our boat, rowed to the 
shallows, and again had a wade of it above 
our knees to the land. On painino; the 
top of the slopes, we saw, about two miles 
off, a cluster of tents and huts, large herds 
of cattle, and many camels ; within a few 
hundred yards of us, a flock of goats, a goat- 
herd and child, a few stray camels, and a 
herdsman or two, advancing in other direc- 
tions. Our party, that is, pilot, Turk, and 
sailors, all halted in a cluster, and called loud- 
ly after us, for going forward. To the first 
herdsman I met, I gave the " Taieeb>''^^ and 
the hand. He had evidently a hurried and 
confused look of alarm, but our young Arab 
came up, and spoke to him, and he became 
assured. Nothing, however, could induce 
the nakhoda and pilot either to go over to 
the huts themselves, or to trust us there. 
They went so far as to threaten to row off, 
and set sail, if we attempted it. Perhaps 
they were right, and perhaps these people 
are, as they stated, treacherous, hostile, and 

* " Good," a friendly salutation. 



VOYAGE IN THE RED SEA. 41 

not to be trusted ; or perhaps, what they 
did not state, may be more to the purpose, 
the crews, Turk, Arab, and African, which 
sail these seas, may have occasionally plun- 
dered the far-straying flocks, and beaten or 
slain the herdsmen of the tribe, and gen- 
tler or weaker visitors might suffer for their 
piratical violence. To me it was a sad dis- 
appointment, and I am convinced that, with 
the salutation of peace on our lips, and a 
trifling present in our hands, we might safe- 
ly have visited these people. However, as 
it was, we only stretched our limbs on the 
barren soil, now stooped to pluck a handful 
of the coarse pale grass, and now to free our 
limbs from the prickles of that sour and 
thorny plant, which grows in these wilder- 
nesses for the patient and hardy camel. We 
found in our ramble the traces of an old 
castle, built of coral stone — mere traces — 
just stones enough to show by their disposi- 
tion where the walls had been, and that 
th^re was a round tower at each angle. We 
sauntered on the yellow beach, where the 
large pearl oyster- shells lay in numbers, or, 



42 VOYAGE IN THE RED SEA. 

from the higher bank, looked wistfully on 
the distant scene of life and habitation. 
The grazing camel, at that hour when the 
desert reddens with the setting sun, is a fine 
object to the eye which seeks and feeds on 
the picturesque -^ his tall, dark form — his 
indolently leisure walk — his ostrich neck, 
now lifted to its full height, now bent 
slowly, and far around, with a look of un- 
alarmed enquiry. YoU" eannot gaze upon 
him, without, by the readiest and most na- 
tural suggestions, reverting in thought to 
the world's infancy — to the times and pos- 
sessions of the shepherd kings, their tents 
and raiment, their journeyings and set- 
tlings. The scene, too, in the distance, and 
the hour, eventide, and the uncommon ma- 
jesty of that dark, lofty, and irregular range 
of rocky mountain, which ends in the black 
cape of Ras el Askar *, formed an assem- 
blage not to be forgotten. 

On our return to the boat we found that 
our Arab youth had purchased some sheep, 

* Or Soldier's Cape, 



DJIDDA. 43 

and going into the flock, I selected a milch 
goat, very prettily marked, with udders full, 
and swelHng with promise. The old grey- 
bearded herdsman sold her readily enough, 
though lie offered rather any other ; but the 
child, a little girl* of about eight years of 
age, naked, save a rag round her middle, 
looked after her as she saw her struggling 
with her horns, prettily, but vainly, against 
the sailor, who dragged her off, as after 
something which had shared her childish 
affections. It was late when we returned 
on board, there were yet other sights and 
sounds along the shore, not common on 
this solitary coast and silent sea. Many 
seafowl were winging to their rocky nests, 
and the curlew's shrill cry might be readily 
distinguished. 

We made the harbour of Djidda on the 



* In the days of their idolatry the ancient Arabs often 
buried alive their daughters at six years of age. " Per- 
fume and adorn her that I may carry her to her mother," 
was his inhuman command. If preserved, a garment of 
hair was given her, and she was sent to tend sheep or 
camels in the desert. 



44 DJIDDA. 

9th of February ; as we had a coasting pilot 
on board, we ran directly in, but the ap- 
proach must be very anxious for vessels of 
any size or burden. The coral reefs are 
numerous, and covered with water, the pas- 
sages between them narrow, nor are these 
free from detached and sunken rocks : it 
was already the afternoon. Abdallah walk ^ 
ed the poop with an air of delighted im- 
portance, begged leave to look through the 
glass ; and long before we came up, " Now," 
said he, " they see me, they know ?/ze, tliey 
will send a boat for me." True enough 
they did. We had letters for Hussein Aga, 
a wealthy and respectable Turk, an agent 
to Ali Pasha, and enjoying also that ap- 
pointment to our East India Company ; 
and we had also a letter for the governor. 

Early the next morning the captain of 
the port* came for us in his boat, and Ab- 
dallah with him. Whether Abdallah had 



* A kind of deputy comes, a respectable man enough 
in appearance, whom you give a present to for his at- 
tendance and the use of the boat. 



DJIDDA. 



45 



been drinking, or indulging in opium, 1 
know not, but the expression of his counte- 
nance was ludicrously grave ; and, at last, 
in a half whisper, he came out with some 
story, in which he mixed up the heads of 
Malta, a British fleet, Alexandria, firing 
but not war yet, the striking of a consul's 
flag, Mohammed Ali Pasha, Istamboul, 
the Greeks, and the Russians, in a manner 
utterly unintelligible. In consequence of 
what the resident had told us at Mocha, al- 
though we lauo;hed at this confused tale, 
we were not without a fear that some 
change in our political relations might in- 
terrupt our journey, and compel us to re- 
trace our steps ; but, determined to enjoy 
whatever novelty the day might bring with 
it, we sprang into the boat, and were rowed 
to the government-house. Rustan Aga, 
the governor, received us with some state. 
He was seated in his divan-window, smok- 
ing, and reclining on a crimson cushion ; 
two elderly, respectable-looking Turks were 
seated on either hand ; four chairs were 
placed for us; and the room, which was 



46 DJIDDA. 

large, was filled with armed attendants. 
Abdallah stood opposite, near the rail of the 
divan, as interpreter *, his face all glazed 
and clammy from his last night of sleep- 
lessness and excess, and our young Arab 
behind us. The usual complimients passed. 
Hookahs were brought ; then coffee ; then, 
in very handsome glasses, sherbet with rose- 
water in it ; and handsome napkins, worked 
with gold thread, to wipe the beards, f All 
this occupied some time, and the silence 
was occasionally broken, on both sides, by 
some formal, unimportant question or ob- 
servation. X The whole scene and grouping 
left a strong impression on me. Rustan 



* Our youth could not speak Turkish, the court lan- 
guage here. 

f And we had beards to wipe, and long ones, for we 
had not shaved since we left India. I speah not of their 
comeliness. 

\ These are always the same ; as, " The governor 
wishes health to you." — " Is there war in your country ?" 

— " Is there war in India?" — " Where do you come 
from?" — "Where are you going?" — "How many 
days' journey is it? " — " Have you been well treated ?■' 

— " Have you any want ?" &c. &c. 



D JIDDA. 47 

Aga himself was a fine-looking, haughty, 
martial man, with mustachios, but no beard : 
he wore a robe of scarlet cloth. Hussein 
Aga, who sat on his left, had a good profile, 
a long, grizzled beard, with a black ribbon 
bound over one eye, to conceal its loss. 
He wore a robe of pale blue. The other 
person, Araby Jellauny, was an aged and a 
very plain man. The attendants, for the 
most part, wore large dark-brown dresses, 
fashioned into the short Turkish vest or 
jacket, and the large, full, Turkish trowsers ; 
their sashes were crimson, and the heavy 
ornamented buts of their pistols protruded 
from them ; their crooked scimitars hung 
in silken cords before them ; they had white 
turbans, large mustachios, but the cheek 
and chin cleanly shaven. Their com- 
plexions were in general very pale, as of 
men who pass their lives in confinement. 
They stood with their arms folded, and 
their eyes fixed on us. I shall never forget 
them. There were a dozen or more. I 
saw nothing like this after, not even in 
Egypt, for Djidda is an excellent govern- 



48 DJIDDA. 

ment, both on account of its port, and its 
vicinity to Mecca ; and Rustan Aga had a 
large establishment, and was something of 
a magnifico. He has the power of hfe and 
death. A word, a sign from him, and these 
men, who stand before you in an attitude 
so respectful, with an aspect so calm, so 
pale, would smile and slay you. We know 
that the name of Englishman is a tower of 
strength, — that he may sit among these 
despotic lords, fearless, proud, and cheer- 
ful. So indeed may all Europeans whose 
countries are strong enough to protect their 
subjects. But we have to do with the 
manners of these people ; and we know 
that not fourteen years have past, since Ali 
Pasha, whom I have heard laugli^ as the 
assembled beys of the Mamelukes passed 
forth from the hall of audience, whither he 
had invited them, gave the signal for a ge- 
neral massacre of them and their brave fol- 
lowers. Such is the Turk. 

On leaving the governor's, we proceeded 
to Hussein Aga's,-who followed us home, 
and was very civil and attentive. We did 



DJIDDA. 49 

nothing but smoke, drink coffee, and lounge 
on the broad cushioned seats of the divan. 
Of all the idle conversation, I can only re- 
collect two questions of Hussein Aga's ; 
one related to the age of young Napoleon, 
and the other to one of the jewels in Na- 
poleon's imperial crown, the value of which 
he said was seven years revenue of Egypt I ! 
Here I first saw the true scribe ; well 
robed, and dressed in turban, trowsers, and 
soft slipper, like one of rank among the 
people ; his inkstand with its pen-case has 
the look of some weapon, and is worn like a 
dagger in the folds of the sash ; it is of 
silver or brass — this was of silver. When 
summoned to use it, he takes some paper 
out of his bosom, cuts it into shape with 
scissors, then writes his letter by dictation, 
presents it for approval ; it is tossed back 
to him with a haughty and careless air, and 
the ring drawn off and passed or thrown to 
him, to affix the seal. He does everything on 
his knees, which are tucked up to serve him 
as a desk. Our hovSt provided us a handsome 

E 



50 DJIDDA. 

repast; and as he insistedon our having it with 
a table, chairs, knives, and forks, after the Eu- 
ropean fashion, he did not join us, but left 
us to make ourselves comfortable, while he 
went to his evening siesta. There were no 
less, I think, than fourteen different dishes, 
— seven in each large tray — soups, stews, 
pilaus, forcemeats, excellent pastry, prepa- 
rations of milk, and a bowl of sherbet with 
raisins floating on its brim. We found 
most of the dishes very well dressed ; made 
a very hearty dinner ; there was a basin 
with a cullender, a servant with ewer and 
towels ; and, after washing our hands, we 
again lounged, smoked, and sipped coffee, 
till the cool of the evening, when we walk- 
ed out with an attendant janizary to see 
the bazaar. At the corner of the lane lead- 
ing into it sat some merry cobblers ; they 
gave the good-humoured smile, and the 
" taieeb," and looked kind and cheerful. 
I know not how it is, I have remarked al- 
most wherever I have travelled, that the 
cobbler is a good-tempered fellow. They 



DJIDDA. 51 

are a family of men who pass their lives in 
doing kind jobs ; and tyranny, even Turk- 
ish tyranny, reaches not so low. 

" Princes may pick their suffering nobles out, 
And one by one employ them to the block ; 
But when they once grow formidable to 
Their clowns and cobblers, 'ware then." 

Now this is just what the Porte does. 
Pashas, and agas, and wealthy ministers or 
merchants, are the victims of its bloody op- 
pression ; for the rest, the husbandman 
drives his plough, and the smith plies his 
anvil in comparative security. The aspect 
of the population at Djidda differs much 
from that of Mocha : there are more well- 
dressed people ; better shops ; instead of 
the thin flat cakes, there are small loaves of 
good wheaten bread ; there are more coffee- 
houses, and of a better appearance. The 
buildings are in general of coral-stone, and 
some are spacious and handsome. The 
latticed wood-work of the windows is orna- 
mentally carved, and has a pretty effect. 
Not a Bedouin was to be seen : what most 

E 2 



52 D JIDDA. 

gratified me was the sight of the Turkish 
soldiery ; there was a large body in garrison 
here — a division of that army which had 
been sent from Egypt against the Hedjaz, 
two or three years before. Scattered in 
groups through the bazaar, and reclining 
or squatted on the benches of the coffee- 
houses, these men were everywhere to be 
seen ; some in turbans and vests covered 
with tarnished embroidery ; others only in 
waistcoats with the small red cap, the red 
stocking, the bare knee, the white kilt, the 
loose shirt sleeve, which, with many, was 
tucked up to the very shoulder, and showed 
a nervous, hairy arm ; all had pistols in 
their red girdles. Their complexions and 
features various ; but very many among them 
had eyes of the lightest colours, and the 
hair on their upper lips of a sun-scorched 
brown or of a dirty yellow. They have a look 
at once indolent and ferocious, such as the 
tiger would have basking in the sun, and 
they are not less savage. The Turkish 
soldier would sit, smoke, and sleep, for a 
year or years together ; he hates exertion, 



DJIDDA. 



scorns discipline, but has within him a ca- 
pability of great efforts, and an undaunted 
spirit. He will rise from his long rest to 
give the " wild halloo," and rush fearless to 
the battle. These troops were originally 
sent to Egypt from Constantinople, and 
were alike familiar with the snows of Thrace 
and the sun of Arabia ; men who had, per- 
haps, seen the Russian in his furs, or bi- 
vouacked near the dark-rolling Danube. 
Such are the men who shed the blood of 
the peaceful Greek families in the gardens 
of Scio ; and such are the men (let it not 
be forgotten) who, a short century ago, en- 
camped under the walls of Vienna.* 

On our return to the boat we went into 
some mills, where they were grinding the 
corn of Egypt, and saw a white-faced, cruel- 
looking master beating a stout Arab servant. 
As we put off from the shore I observed a 



* I heartily wish that the Turks were driven out of 
Europe, ay, even though it should make the Emperor 
Alexander master of Constantinople. He would find it 
a hot birth, I fancy, and one that would give him full 
occupation. 

E S 



54 D J IDE) A. 

Turkish soldier standing alone, and looking 
earnestly after us ; I had observed the same 
man to cross and dog us with no common 
gaze while walking in the bazaars. It now 
struck me that he was probably an English- 
man, a renegade. I asked Abdallah if there 
were any among the troops ; he said there 
were two or three. I felt confirmed in my 
conjecture. 

Another thing he told us, which much 
shocked us, that there were two English 
boys in the most degraded service with the 
governor ; they were in the very room 
when we had our audience of him, but stood 
behind us. The next evening, when we 
were on shore, he pointed out these boys 
— - one at the gate, whom I saw distinctly, 
very well dressed, laughing, and careless ; 
the other at a window, who appeared (he 
was distant) taller and very pale ; my fancy 
made him, my heart wished him, sad. 

We sailed again on the morning of the 
12th; on the 17th we ran into the little 
harbour of Yambo, and anchored under 
the very walls of the governor's residence, 



YAMBO. 55 

which are washed by the sea. Three of 
us visited him in the evening ; he was an 
old man of very quiet, kind manners. A 
fine rough-looking, old, bearded Turk (an 
officer, for he sat), two black attendants, 
armed, a Georgian slave-boy, and two fa- 
vourite greyhounds, which lay stretched on 
the cushions, formed the grouping in his lit- 
tle apartment. He was uncommonly civil 
both in his enquiries as to our wants, and 
his offers of service. After taking cof- 
fee, and smoking the hookah, we took 
our leave, and walked out with one of the 
black soldiers for a guide ; we passed 
through the town*, which is very small, 
and most miserable, and wretched in its 
aspect ; the people poor and ill-clothed, 
and a few groups of discontented-looking 
Turkish soldiers ; we went out at the Me- 
dina gate, and found ourselves, at once, 
in the sandy and cheerless desert : we 



* It is one of the points of disembarkation for pil- 
grims from Africa. 

E 4 



36 YAMBO. 

walked about a mile and a half to some 
Arab tents ; they had most of them the 
central compartment open, those at the 
two ends carefully enclosed for their 
women. One of the Arabs courteously 
asked us to gratify our curiosity, by enter- 
ing his tent. They are protection against 
the cold night- wind of the desert, which is 
all in fact that the Arab requires, for the 
climate being dry, he is seldom troubled by 
rain, and to the burning sun he is indiffer- 
ent ; these light, thin tents* would be a 
very poor and insuflBcient shelter against 
its powerful rays. These were a few Arabs, 
who had come down from their tribe (not 
a regular warlike one) for the purposes of 
traffic. The camel and the goat were 
browsing or reposing near them. We walk- 
ed back into the town, and re-entered it 
by a different gateway ; a small, poor, rude 



* They are of goats' hair, of a much Jiner texture 
than our coal-sacks, but of the same dull colours ; they 
have a dreary, melancholy look. 



YAMBO. 57 

thing, of stone indeed, and arched, insig- 
nificant as that which would open on the 
court-yard of a rustic auberge^ in many 
parts of France, which have escaped the 
picturesque-destroying touch of improve- 
ment. We could not repress a smile when 
our guide called our attention to it, as " the 
gate of Egypt !" We crossed a burial- 
ground crowded with small tombs ; he 
stopped us once more to point to a silent 
windmill, and told us, as if he would com- 
pliment us, that it had been erected by a 
" Nazarene," one who had died in this 
place, — he knew not of his grave, — some- 
where in the sand I It was late and dark, 
everything wore a gloomy appearance. 
The Nazarene's unmarked, forgotten, and 
lonely resting-place, — peace to him ! 

" The grave is but a calmer bed, 

Where mortals sleep a longer sleep, 
A shelter for the houseless head, 

A spot where wretches cease to weep«" 

We sailed away the next morning : we 
had sent the old governor a present of 



58 VOYAGE IN THE RED SEA. 

English medicine* (wine and brandy) ; but 
he told our youth that he feared the ob- 
servations of his household, and he returned 
it, begging a present of fine priming pow- 
der and flints, which we sent. We received 
from him, in return, a basket of fruit 
(pomegranates from Egypt), the finest I 
ever saw. 

We had an escape of being run upon a 
coral reef on the 20th. It blew rather 
fresh : they were slow and awkward in tak- 
ing in sail, and we ran past a little entrance 
in the reef so narrow that we had nothing 
to spare : we lay all night in a most inse- 
cure anchorage, very far out from the land, 
and closely surrounded on all sides by rock 
and shoal. On the 21st we were in a bay 
of some interest and beauty : three of us 
went on shore ; we found a cartridge ; and 
we met an Arab with a camel-load of wood, 
and a woman. He came down to the 



* Under this title, often received as a truly acceptable 
present ; many require not even the disgnise of the 
name. 



VOYAGE IN THE RED SEA. 59 

beach and sold his wood. I, in spite of the 
nakhoda's remonstrance, took a walk a 
mile or more inland, over the sand hills ; 
there was no tent, hut, man, or animal to 
be seen. The tribe from whence the Arab 
had come, attracted by our white sail, as 
he had seen it in the morning bearing up 
for this anchorage, was five or six miles dis- 
tant. I saw therefore nothing, but felt 
the luxury of being for a short time alone^ 
and alone in a solitude where fancv mi2;ht 
listen for those 

" Airy tongues that syllable men's names 

On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses." 

As we sat at sunset on our poop, sipping 
our coffee, a la Turque ; we were much 
struck with the scene. A broken bank of 
sand ran out from the shore in a singular 
form ; eaten into by the wave, it thrust 
forth a long head, somewhat narrowing to 
a point, and flattened on the top, present- 
ing to the fanciful eye, as the red sun set 
behind it and threw it into shadow, a 
giant alligator, the monster of some Ara- 



60 ISTABEL ANTAR. 

bian fiction, placed there by magic, to 
guard the shore. 

The next day we anchored in a bay of 
extreme wildness, called Istabel Antar (the 
stable of Antar). Two other khanjas lay 
here. It was a cold, chill, gloomy day : we 
had some rain. In the evening I took a 
walk on shore, and climbed a hill about 
four hundred feet in height : the country 
far as the eye could reach, wore one unva- 
rying aspect : an ocean of ash-coloured hil- 
locks, from forty to fifty feet in height j 
among these wound natural untrodden 
roads, like the channels of rivers, but slate- 
coloured. How scathed, how desolate it 
looked ! Two of my companions, who had 
gone on shore before me, and with whom 
I sat here enjoying the scene, returned 
down the face of the hill by which I had as- 
cended, and I descended on the other side 
by a rugged and deep-worn watercourse; 
and as I stood below, I summoned up the 
black Antar * in his position of stern re- 

* Vide Hamilton's translation of Antar, 



BHEER SULTAUN. 61 

pose ; his limbs gathered up and crossed be- 
fore him on his saddle, his throne of power ! 
Excuse this nonsense, reader ; it was with 
me the very charm of travelling. I do not 
profess — I cannot write to inform you — I 
only ask admission to your fireside to talk, 
just to paint faithfully what I saw, and only 
what I felt, and thus idly, yet innocently, 
to come into secret communing with spi- 
rits like my own. 

It was dusk when I returned round the 
base of the hill. Though not very near to 
him, I disturbed and alarmed an Arab, 
whom I did not even perceive till he 
mounted, made his kneeling camel rise up, 
and stole off into the shades of night. I 
found some wood, in faggots, lying on the 
deserted beach : I put a piece of money 
on the top of one, to suiprise the Arab, 
should he come there on the morrow, and, 
hailing for the small-boat, went off again 
to join our quiet little circle. On the 
26th, we ran to a little spot, called 
Bheer Sultaun, from four ancient wells ; 
there are seven small clumps of palms 
near them, and the delight we felt at seeing 



62 BHEER SULTAUN. 

thein, excused to us the warmth of Arab 
descriptions, whenever they have to speak 
of trees or water. Of a truth, the water 
here was excellent ; " sweet," they termed 
it, " as the fine sugar of Egypt." We took 
a walk to the wells : they are faced with 
stone, parapetted, and the masonry good : 
the marks of the ropes all round their 
mouths are numerous and very deep — the 
wearing away of long ages. The Arabs 
say they are very ancient, and their true old 
name, " the Father's Wells ;" so that they 
probably were afterwards faced by some 
Egyptian ruler as a watering-place for his 
Indian traders. 

We took in water here. The aspect of 
the country from a hill above the well is 
dreary ; the same low, wavy hillocks all 
around, save one, called Gebel Shah, which 
is the monarch-mountain of this coast, and 
hath a lofty, broken, Parnassus-like, naked 
top. Close to the beach we found some 
heaps of charcoal. A few poor wretches live 
in a cavern hard by : the wood is brought 
from some considerable distance ; they burn 



GULF OF ACABA. 63 

it here, and sell it, or send it across to the 
other coast, as opportunity oiFers. One of 
my friends returned on shore from the ves- 
sel with a small supply of biscuit for these 
poor people, which they thankfully re- 
ceived. On the 1st of March we passed 
Moilah, and ran up into the Gulf of Acaba: 
we sailed, for many hours, over or among 
large and beautifully green shoals, and cast 
our anchor on the shore of Midian : it is a 
silent, unpeopled shore ; the " very great 
company" of early ages has, with them, 
passed away : still, however, from the oppo- 
site side of the gulf, the rugged mountains 
of Arabia the Stony frown distinctly upon 
you.* Sinai is one of this rude and lofty 
chain. I know not if its awful summit was 
seen by us ; but where we lay, the fisher 
in his bark, " when the God of Israel, even 
our God, spake to his chosen people," must 

* Gladly should we have visited this spot, but we 
could not have done it without passing round by Tor, a 
considerable detour^ and one requiring arrangements 
with our vessel, &c., which we had not made. The 
Arabs called the whole range Sinai. 



64 KOSSEIR. 

have heard the thunder, and seen the hght- 
ning cloud. 

We stretched across the gulf the next 
day, and anchored near an isle, called Te- 
rah. When the sun set we again weighed, 
and ran over to the Egyptian coast, passing 
the straits oi Juhal, 'Twas late ere we lay 
down to rest ; and when the morning dawn- 
ed, we were close under the land, bearing 
up for Kosseir, in which harbour we came 
to anchor on the afternoon of the 3d of 
March. On the following morning, after 
breakfast, we landed, and waited on the 
governor, an elderly, hard-featured, unpre- 
possessing man. After coffee, we were con- 
ducted to a house appropriated to travellers. 

Kosseir is a very poor-looking place, but 
its market is well and plentifully supplied. 
You drink the sweet water of the Nile, and 
eat of vegetables from the valley through 
which it flows. The costume of the inhabi- 
tants is dull ; they all wear the robe of ca- 
puchin brown, common to the fellahs of 
Egypt, and every one carries a long pipe in 
his hand. A few Turks or Arabs, in the 



KOSSEIR. 65 

employ of the pasha, the merchants, and 
nakhodas, who frequent the port, and a 
few soldiers, enliven the bazaar, contribute 
to the support of a respectable coffee- 
house, and account for the existence of a 
commodious mosque, of late erection, built 
of stone. In our evening walk, we found a 
garden some forty yards square, two trees, 
and a few wells of brackish water ; we also 
saw a small Arab encampment, and some 
sailors at play near the gate, at a game not 
unlike trap-ball. One of these sailors had 
long full thick curls, one on each side of 
the head, very similar to those on the an- 
cient statues in Egypt. 

We saw and exchanged bows with a very 
good-looking well-dressed man, who the 
next day called on us, and introduced him- 
self as one Peter John, a Greek, and a mer- 
cantile agent of the pasha's : we had him to 
dine with us : he drank his wine ; was com- 
municative, and abundantly diverted us. 
A Turkish soldier, named Mustapha (the 
same who had accompanied Colonel Fitz- 

F 



^6 KOSSEIIi. 

clarence), came and begged us to ask the 
governor for him as our guide or orderly, 
to Thebes. He sat down behind our chairs, 
drank the brandy we gave him as if it was 
wine, and every now and then pressed his 
petition, as an affair of no httle conse- 
quence. 

The governor paid us a visit the next 
day : we gave him a pipe, and (a sherbet, as 
we called it) some raspberry vinegar and 
water. Soon after he got home, he sent to 
say that he was ill, and wanted to know 
what was in the sherbet we gave him. We 
assured him it was perfectly innocent ; and 
he then sent for a few bottles, that like a 
child, he might succeed in making himself 
sick again. On the morning of the Gth, the 
Turk (not Mustapha, but an officer) appoint- 
ed to attend us, came to say that the camels 
should be ready at the serai two hours af- 
ter mid-day, so that we might start, and 
make a short march that evening. This 
Turk was a very respectable-looking well- 
dressed man : his vest and large loose 



KOSSEIR. 67 

breeches of fine blue cloth, embroidered 
with silk, his waistcoat of a deep blood-red, 
his gaiter, stocking, or greave, of a like 
colour, and bordered with silk embroidery. 
We now finally settled with our nakhoda, 
and gave a liberal buckshees to the crew ; 
nor can I part with them silently, I must 
not forget their morning pipe, although it is 
utterly out of my power to convey the comic 
effect of the scene: one pipe filled, and 
freely given as a dram might be, is lighted 
by the Siddi cook, and carried by him in 
iSuccession to every sailor : nobody is al- 
lowed to take more than one puff— but such 
a puff! a long deep inspiration, and a 
never-ending volume of smoke suffered 
slowly to escape from the opened mouth. 
Germany, with all her pipes and whiskers, 
never saw the like ! Oh, that Teniers had ! 
They were a most cheerful, well-behaved, 
willing set, alike distinct from the kind of 
men who sailed with us from Bombay to 
Mocha, and from the Arab boatmen we 
found upon the Nile. They had a very 

F 2 



68 KOSSEIR. 

peculiar and pleasing song to which they 
lowered the sail every evening ; and one* 
of an active stirring nature, to which they 
hoisted it each morning. 

It is the custom with them for the f pilot 
to lead their devotions ; an idea which has 
something in it pleasing, and one of the 
most ancient customs both with the Greeks 
and Romans , the pilot always poured out 
the libation at the helm, and consecrated 
the garland hung over the prow. A fine 
young Abyssinian, whom we used to laugh 
at as he sat of a morning with his little 
glass cleaning his white teeth, painting his 
eyelids, and dressing up his naked person 
with as much care as a dandy in the civil- 
ised West, looked after us with, I believe, 
unfeigned regret ; and but for the nakhoda, 



* « Eh Bab Allah Kurreem, Eh Bab Allah Kur- 
reem" was the chorus cry of this hymn, uttered at 
every haul. 

f We shall long remember, and not without smiles, 
the solemn sighing drawl and uplifted eyes of our Djidda 
pilot. 



JOURNEY ACROSS THE DESERT. 69 

who, having married his sister, was a bro- 
ther and a guardian, would have followed 
us to Cairo.* 

At two o'clock our camels were brought, 
our baggage loaded, our saddles firmly fixed 
on the packsaddles of those selected for our 
riding. Mustapha made himself very busy 
and very useful, received his present, made 
his salaam, and we set forward. Th^re is, 
at first, a feeling of awkwardness and un- 
easiness at the unaccustomed motion of the 
camel, not entirely free from alarm lest you 
should be precipitated from your lofty seat; 
and there is, moreover, a sense of the ridi- 
culous. As you look upon the turbans, the 
cloaks, the folding garments, or open loose 
shirt-like vests of those around you, you feel 
out of character with the scene. It is, how- 
ever, but a passing annoyance ; in a very 



* This youth was a Christian born, and by profes- 
sion : he never joined the crew in their devotions, the 
only circumstance by which you could have discovered 
it, for he had no book, form, or practice of his own. I 
saw no prejudice against him ; all seemed to like him. 

F 3 



70 JOURNEY ACROSS THE DESERT. 

few miles you become acquainted with the 
pace and motion of your animal ; and, 
though slowjit is not disagreeable till towardvS 
the close of a day's journey, when it is, of 
a truth, achingly wearisome. This would 
not be the case with the regular-paced 
camel ; he has an ambling trot, smooth and 
easy, and the best are very fleet ; but ours 
were beasts of burden, and though we con- 
trived, now and then, to urge them for a few 
hundred yards, into a trot, they were heavy 
at it, and soon relapsed into their measured 
walk. 

We halted, the first evening, at the wells, 
about 1 1 miles from Kosseir. It was already 
dark, so we did not pitch our tent, but 
spread our mats upon the sand, our camels 
kneeling round us ; made a cheerful repast 
of cold provisions ; and lay down to rest 
with the starry firmament for a canopy. 
From the purity of the atmosphere the 
planets shine out, of a size and with a lus- 
tre, surprising even to the eye of an old 
resident in India. You look upon them 
and feel sad, as the power of sleep steals 



JOURNEY ACROSS FHE DESERT. 71 

upon your heavy eyelid, and shuts out the 
glorious vision : yet the last conscious 
thought is that of love, where love alone 
should be directed. 

We started the following morning about 
six. For two hours the land-wind was cool 
enough ; but as the sun gained power, the 
heat became scorching and oppressive. 
About eleven we halted under the shadow 
of a rock, and refreshed ourselves. In a 
northern country it is a " traveller in the 
day of the sun." which conveys an image of 
joy and content. Here it is the traveller 
drinking from his cruise of water under the 
high overshadowing rock ; the kneeling 
camel, and the sleeping driver. 

The road through the desert is most won- 
derful in its features : a finer cannot be 
imagined. It is wide, hard, firm, winding, 
for at least two thirds of the way, from 
Kosseir to Thebes, between ranges of rocky 
hills, rising often perpendicularly on either 
side, as if they had been scarped by art ; 
here, again, rather broken, and overhanging, 
as if they were the lofty banks of a mighty 

F 4 



7^ JOURNEY ACROSS THE DESERT. 

river, and you traversing its dry and naked 
bed. Now you are quite landlocked ; now 
again you open on small valleys, and see, 
upon heights beyond, small square towers.* 
It was late in the evening when we came to 
our ground, a sort of dry bay ; sand, burning 
sand, with rock and cliff, rising in jagged 
points, all around — a spot where the 
waters of ocean might sleep in stillness, or, 
with the soft voice of their gentlest ripple, 
lull the storm-worn mariner. The dew of 
the night before had been heavy, we there- 
fore pitched our tent, and decided on start- 
ing, in future, at a very early hour in the 



* They incline to the pyramidal but truncated form. 
These are found along the whole line of road, communi- 
cating with each other, according to the nature of it, at 
very unequal distances. They have evidently been sig- 
nal stations. I do not think it improbable they are of 
great antiquity, as this road, between Thebes and the 
shore of the Red Sea, must have been known and fre* 
quented long before the time of the Ptolemies. In three 
or four places are traces of serais, with clear marks of 
circular towers at the angles. These are evidently 
Moorish, are in the plain, and may be of the time of the 
caliphs, or as late as Solyman the Magnificent. 



JOURNEY ACROSS THE DESERT. 73 

morning, so as to accomplish our march 
before noon. It was dark when we moved 
off, and even cold. Your camel is impa- 
tient to rise ere you are well seated on him ; 
gives a shake, too, to warm his blood, and 
half dislodges you ; marches rather faster 
than by day ; and gives, occasionally, a hard 
quick stamp with his broad callous foot. 
Our moon was far in her wane. She rose, 
however, about an hour after we started, all 
red, above the dark hills on our left ; yet 
higher rose, and paler grew, till at last she 
hung a silvery crescent in the deep blue 
sky. I claim for the traveller a love of that 
bright planet far beyond what the fixed and 
settled resident can ever know ; — the me- 
ditation of the lover, the open lattice, the 
guitar, the villagers' castanets, are all in 
sweet character with the moon, or on her 
increase, or full-orbed ; but the traveller 
[especially in the East), he loves her in her 
wane ; so does the soldier at his still pic- 
quet of the night ; and the sailor, on his 
silent watch, when she comes and breaks in 



74 JOURNEY ACROSS THE DESERT. 

upon the darkness of the night to soothe 
and bless him. 

Who passes the desert and says all is 
barren, all lifeless ? In the grey morning 
you may see the common pigeon, and the 
partridge, and the pigeon of the rock, alight 
before your very feet, and come upon the 
beaten camel-paths for food. They are 
tame, for they have not learned to fear, or 
to distrust the men who pass these soli- 
tudes. The camel driver would not lift a 
stone to them ; and the sportsman could 
hardly find it in his heart to kill these 
gentle tenants of the desert: the deer might 
tempt him ; I saw but one ; far, very far, 
he caught the distant camel tramp, and 
paused, and raised and threw back his head 
to listen, then away to the road instead of 
from it ; but far a-head he crossed it, and 
then away up a long slope he fleetly stole, 
and off to some solitary spring which wells, 
perhaps, where no traveller, no human 
being has ever trod. Here and there you 
meet with something of green, — a tree alone, 



JOURNEY ACROSS THE DESERT. 75 

or two, nay, in one vale you may see some 
eight or ten ; these are the acacias ; small- 
leaved and thorny, yet kind, in that " they 
forsake not these forsaken places." You 
have affections in the desert too ; your pa- 
tient and docile camel is sometimes vainly 
urged if his fellow or his driver be behind; 
he will stop, and turn, and give that deep 
hoarse gurgling sound, by which he ex- 
presses uneasiness and displeasure. It is 
something to have rode, though but for a 
few days, the camel of the desert. We al- 
ways associate the horse with the Arab war- 
rior, and the horse alone ; also the crooked 
scimitar. Now these belong to the Syrian, 
and the Persian, the Mameluke, and the 
Turk as well. The camel is peculiar to the 
Arab alone. It was on the camel that Ma- 
homet performed his flight to Medina. It 
was on a white she camel that he made his 
entry into that city. Seventy camels were 
arrayed by his side in the Vale of Beder. 
And it was on his own red camel that the 
Caliph Omar, with his wooden dish and 
leathern water-bottle, and bag of dates, 



76 JOURNEY ACROSS THE DESERT. 

came to receive the keys of the holy city 
of Jerusalem and the submission and ho- 
mage of the patriarch Sophronius. More- 
over, it is on a winged white camel, in a 
golden saddle, that the Moslem, who is 
faithful to the end, believes that he shall 
ride hereafter. 

As we stopped for a while to-day, to 
alight, one of my companions asking a dri- 
ver how far we were from the wells, he re- 
plied to him, I observed, by pointing to 
the shadow as it then lay, then raised his 
hand, and following the sun's course point- 
ed again to where it would be at the hour 
of our arrival. His dial is the rock, the 
solitary thorn, or the tall camel which he 
leads. 

They are a patient, and hardy race of 
men, not so cheerful as the muleteer, yet 
have they a song. It is a rude prolonged 
cry : when very loud, barbarous and un- 
harraonious ; when lower and deeper (as 
in the heat of noon, or towards the close of 
a long march), it is sad, not unpleasing to 
the ear, in perfect unison with the dull 



JOURNEY ACROSS THE DESERT. 77 

scene around, and the slow toil of journey- 
ing in the desert. 

When the camel train is not under the 
control of the private traveller, it goes in- 
cessantly from rise to set of sun, and often 
far into the night, or moves earlier than 
the dawn, according to the distances, at 
which water is procurable, or other well- 
known arrangements. The pace of the 
camel is but two miles and a half, an hour, 
somewhat less in the heat of the day. Cold 
hard eggs are the common food of the dri- 
vers, and indeed of all native travellers on 
these marches* ; all carry long pipes ; dur- 
ing halts, they make a iSre of camels' dung ; 
knead up their thin cakes of wheat, or 
dhourra flour in a coarse piece of leather 
they carry for the purpose ; sweep the 
ashes from the sand ; deposit their cake ; 
sweep the ashes over it again ; and, as soon 
as it is baked, they eat with cheerfulness 
their daily bread, 

" With how small allowance 
Untroubled Nature doth herself suffice." 

* That is, on this route between the Nile and Kosseir. 



78 JOURNEY ACROSS THE DESERT. 

The antiquarian, but the antiquarian 
will never read a book like this, he would 
throw it behind the fire, the reader, then, 
whoever he may be, will smile as I relate 
the scene which follows : — 

As we jogged heavily along, one of m}^ 
companions called my attention to the 
face of a granite rock on the left of the 
road, saying, he saw, or fancied he saw, an 
inscription, — we turned towards it, and 
alighted ; on a smooth piece of the black 
granite, there were traced some twenty or 
thirty lines of hieroglyphic characters ; so 
very slight was the tracing, that it had the 
appearance of being little more than a 
scratching with some imperfect instrument, 
and the lines which were of no depth, had 
a whitish look, as if recently made ; I, at 
once, set them down as the imitative 
scratches of some ingenious modern tra- 
veller, who had rested on that spot, with a 
sketch of some hieroglyphics in his port- 
folio; these characters from which I turned, 
with the incredulous smile of fancied dis- 
cernment, had been traced by the Egyptian 



JOURNEY ACROSS THE DESERT. 79 

sculptor at least twenty centuries before. 
I was soon undeceived ; we found more of 
the same writing above, and to the left, 
but executed with more care, and having 
the figures of Osiris, Isis, and the god 
Mendes cut in with numbers of close small 
lines, and finished with great neatness. 
On the opposite side of the road also, we 
found a large handsome sarcophagus of 
granite, which had been cut on the spot, 
broken in the effort to move it, and aban- 
doned, - — looking like the accident and 
disappointment of yesterday. Nothing 
more strangely impressed me at the time, 
and afterwardsj than that awful aspect of 
recent execution, which stamps so peculiar 
a character on the ruins of ancient Egypt. 
We continued our march to Hamamaat, 
halted under a lone acacia tree, and found 
a beautifully built deep well.* Here in the 
road lay another broken and abandoned 
sarcophagus : the next morning we started 
early, and rode to the Legayta wells with- 

* A late work. 



80 JOURNEY ACROSS THE DESERT. 

out dismounting. Myself and one of my 
companions pressed on a-head, and got 
there an hour before the party ; the camels 
obediently knelt down ; and we entered 
the smoke-blackened serai. The scene 
around you here is desert, soft, sandy de- 
sert, such as your mind associates with the 
word. The country is open, — not exactly 
flat, — but the elevated parts are of gentle, 
long, undulating forms. I saw the mirage 
here, and to great advantage ; but to the 
Indian traveller, that strange and fancy- 
stirring phenomenon, is not a novelty ! 

It was soon after daybreak, on the mor- 
row, just as the sun was beginning to give 
his rich colouring of golden yellow to the 
white pale sand ; that as I was walking 
alone at some distance far a-head of my 
companions, my eyes bent on the ground, 
and lost in thought, their kind and direct- 
ing shout made me stop, and raise my 
head, when lo ! a green vale, looking 
through the soft mist of morning, rather a 
vision, than a reality, lay stretched in its 
narrow length before me. The Land of 



EGYPT. 81 

Egypt ! We hurried panting on, and 
gazed, and were silent. In an hour we 
reached the village of Hejazi, situated on 
the very edge of the desert ; we alighted 
at a cool, clean serai, having its inner 
room, with a large and small bath for the 
Mussulman's ablutions, its kiblah* in the 
wall ; and a large brimming water-trough in 
front for the thirsting camel. We walked 
forth into the fields, saw luxuriant crops of 
green bearded wheat, waving with its lights 
and shadows ; stood under the shade of 
trees, saw fluttering and chirping birds; 
went down to a well and a water-wheel, 
and stood like children listening to the 
sound of the abundant and bright-flashing 
water, as it fell from the circling pots ; and 
marked all around, scattered individually 
or in small groups, many people in the 
fields, oxen and asses grazing, and camels 
too among them, as men who pass their 
lives in sad anxious toils may sometimes 

* Niche which points out the direction of Mecca, 

G 



82 EGYPT. 

be seen mingling with their happier fellows, 
at the feast of abundance, and listening to 
the song of joy. Amid this scene of glad- 
ness though nothing hath a sadder look 
than the coarse brown robe of the fellah ; 
and he himself is neither a healthy or a 
happy looking peasant ; his cottage is a 
mean, miserable abode: the women too 
have a wretched appearance, being ill- 
clothed ; and as that quaint traveller, old 
Paul Sandys * hath it " hiding their faces 
with beastly clouts, having holes for their 
eyes ; which little is too much to see and 
abstain from loathing.? Some travellers 
abuse them, and laud Ali Pasha to the skies, 
— the intelligent, liberal-minded Pasha, 
— " Protecteur des Arts^'' as I found him 
styled in a large-lettered inscription in his 



* I had him with me , he was never in Upper Egypt, 
but whenever I met with anything which he had de- 
scribed, I found him most faithfiil, a lively, learnedjho- 
nest Englishman, calling things by their right names, 
and,l5y his admirable comparisons picturing them faith- 
fully to the untravelled eye. 



EGYPT. 83 

own arsenal ; he is not the protector of his 
people ; he would wring the last para from 
their hard hands: for what then should 
the subject toil ? he can keep nothing, can 
have neither the pride nor enjoyment of 
possession; therefore it is that he will only 
labour enough to secure his daily bread, 
that this is easily procured, and then, 
crusted with the dirt of indolence, he con- 
soles himself with a pipe, and a slumber, 
and wakes to toil anew, and curse his op- 
pressors. 

We continued our march soon after mid- 
day, to Thebes, passing for a few miles along 
the edge of the desert, and then on em- 
banked roads, raised high above the level 
of the annual inundation. We wound our 
pleasant way among green crops, and tall 
date trees to Luxore, within two miles of 
which place we met a party of European 
travellers, foreigners, in red caps and silken 
vests, a sort of half disguise, common and 
convenient. They were on camels, and 
passed us without stopping. I can recollect 
no day in my life in which I suffered so 

G 2 



84 EGYPT. 

much inconvenience from fatigue* ; we had 
made a forced march, or double stage, and 
my limbs were not only stiff, but, from the 
constrained position on the camel, the mus- 
cles of the thigh were acutely paiijfuL We 
were all pretty much in the same condition, 
and alighted under the majestic colonnade 
of Luxore, with exhausted spirits, and 
minds not free enough to contemplate and 
admire its grandeur. 

We met two or three eager travellers the 
very moment we dismounted, who had just 
arrived, and were just too late to accom- 
pany the party we had passed on the road, 
and which it seems was going to Kosseir. 
They asked a few hurried questions about 
the desert, halting places, water, &c., and 
hastened away with Monsieur Rifaud to 
prepare for their departure. This gentle- 
man, a foreign artist resident there, had 
obligingly provided us a lodging, a rude 
mud hovel, under the very walls of an 
old temple ; it had an upper chamber 

* May be easily avoided by halting one night at He- 
jazi. 



EGYPT. 85 

in ruinous condition ; the floor in parts 
fallen through ; the thatch not weather- 
proof; and neither door, lattice, or window- 
shutter. With delight, however, we took 
possession — and gazed out upon old Nile, 

" With not a wrinkle on his glassy brow." 

Our Indian servant consulted the safety 
of our necks by bringing up some planks to 
place over a hole in the floor. They were 
painted ; a black ground, with figures and 
hieroglyphics in bright yellow. I literally 
thought that they must have been some la- 
bours of Belzoni ; some copies on wood 
to assist him in planning the model of his 
tomb ; — not so — mummy chests broken up 
and sold for firewood. There lay a large 
heap in the yard, bought for a piastre, and 
our cook was feeding his fire^with the once 
sacred sycamore. 

Such was our introduction to ancient 
Thebes. We gave up the next day to re- 
pose. I took a book and sat alone for some 
hours in the morning, under the shadow of 
a part of that magnificent building said to 
G 3 



86 EGYPT. 

be the tomb of Osymandyas. In the after- 
noon we took a slow, unexamining stroll 
round the ruins of Luxore, to receive gene- 
ral impressions, and to catch the general 
effect and character of Egyptian remains. 

Before the grand entrance of this vast 
edifice, which consists of many separate 
structures, formerly united in one harmo- 
nious design, two lofty obelisks stand proud- 
ly pointing to the sky, fair as the daring 
sculptor left them. The sacred figures, 
and hieroglyphic characters, which adorn 
them, are cut beautifully into the hard gra- 
nite, and have the sharp finish of yesterday. 
The very stone looks not discoloured. You 
see them, as Cambyses saw them, when he 
stayed his chariot wheels to gaze up at them, 
and the Persian war-cry ceased before these 
acknowledged symbols of the sacred ele- 
ment of fire. 

Behind them are two colossal figures, in 
part concealed by the sand, as is the bottom 
of a choked-up gateway, the base of a mas- 
sive propylon, and, indeed, their own. 

Very noble are all these remains, and on 



EGYPT. 87 

i 

' the propylon is a war scene, much spoken 
of; but my eyes were continually attracted 
to the aspiring obelisks, and again and again 
you turn to look at them, with increasing 
wonder and silent admiration. 

There are many courts and chambers, 
many porticoes and colonnades, one of the 
latter of stately proportions, and pre-emi- 
nent in grandeur. It is seen to great ad- 
vantage, as it stands in the very centre of 
these ruins, on elevated ground open to the 
river, and not encumbered or disfigured 
by huts or rubbish. As for the other por- 
tions of this tomb or temple, (a point dis- 
puted,) in one court you find a mosque, 
and some dark habitations ; in another, 
some meaner hovels ; litters of dirty straw, 
the ox, the goat, the ass, ragged children, . 
and their poor and sickly-looking parents. 
Some parts which are roofed, and might be 
made commodious as a shelter, are left va- 
cant and silent for the timid lizard. 

The village is scattered round these 
masses of stone, and built of mud and pot- 
tery, having, at least most of the houses, 

G 4 



88 EGYPT. 

large dovecotes of pottery on the roofs. 
On either side of the village and the temple 
walls^ are high mounds of accumulated rub- 
bish and drifted sand. It was getting very 
late, and we ascended one of these, and 
looked around us. Every object (and they 
were not common objects) was tinted, sadly 
as I thought, with the last yellow light of 
departing day. 

Monsieur Rifaud dined with us in the 
evening, and we arranged to visit the tem- 
ple of Karnac the next morning. Mr. R. 
was to accompany us, and asses were to be 
ready at an early hour to convey us. I 
availed myself of their not arriving, at the 
break of day, to walk forward alone, direct- 
ing the servant to saddle one, and send it 
after me. 

With a quick-beating heart, and steps 
rapid as my thoughts, I strode away, took 
the path to the village of Karnac, skirted 
it, and passing over loose sand, and, among 
a few scattered date trees, I found myself 
in the grand alley of the sphinxes, and di- 
rectly opposite that noble gateway, which 



EGYPT. 89 

has been called triumphal; certainly triumph 
never passed under one more lofty, or to 
my eye, of a more imposing magnificence. 
On the bold curve of its beautifully project- 
ing cornice a globe coloured, as of fire, 
stretches forth long overshadowing wings 
of the very brightest azure. 

This wondrous and giant portal stands 
well ; alone, detached a little way from the 
mass of the great ruins, with no columns, 
walls, or propylaea immediately near. I 
walked slowly up to it, through the long 
lines of sphinxes which lay couchant on 
either side of a broad road, (once paved,) 
as they were marshalled by him who plan- 
ned these princely structures, we know not 
when. They are of a stone less durable 
than granite : their general forms are fully 
preserved, but the detail of execution is, in 
most of them, worn away. 

In those forms, in that couched posture, 
in the decaying, shapeless heads, the huge 
worn paws, the little image between them, 
and the sacred tau grasped in its crossed 
hands, there is something which disturbs 



90 EGYPT. 

you with a sense of awe. In the locality 
you cannot err ; you are on a highway to a 
heathen temple. One that the Roman 
came, as you come, to visit and admire ; 
and the Greek before him. And you know 
that priest and king, lord and slave, the 
festival throng and the solitary worshipper, 
trod for centuries where you do : and you 
know that there has been the crowding 
flight of the vanquished towards their sanc- 
tuary and last hold, and the quick tramp- 
ling of armed pursuers, and the neighing of 
the war-horse, and the voice of the trumpet, 
and the shout, as of a king, among them, 
all on this silent spot. And you see be- 
fore you, and on all sides, ruins: — the 
stones which formed walls and square tem- 
ple-towers thrown down in vast heaps ; or 
still, in large masses, erect as the builder 
placed them, and where their material has 
been fine, their surfaces and corners smooth, 
sharp, and uninjured by time. They are 
neither grey or blackened ; like the bones 
of man, they seem to whiten under the sun 
of the desert. Here is no lichen, no moss. 



EGYPT. 91 

no rank grass or mantling ivy, no wall-flower 
or wild fig-tree to robe them, and to con- 
ceal their deformities, and bloom above 
them. No; — all is the nakedness of deso- 
lation — the colossal skeleton of a giant fa- 
bric standing in the unwatered sand, in so- 
litude and silence ; a silence broken only 
by the approach of the stranger, for then 
the wild and houseless dogs, which own no 
master, pick their scanty food in nightly 
prowlings round the village, and bask in 
the sand-heaps near throughout the day, 
start up, and howl at him as he passes, and 
with yell, and bark, and grin, pursue his 
path, and mock his meditations. Old men 
and boys come out of the village, to chase 
and still them, and supply their place; 
bringing with them little relics and orna- 
ments for sale, and they talk and trouble 
you. I soon got rid of them, attaching to 
myself one silent old Arab, who followed 
me throughout that day, and also when I 
visited the temple again ; carrying a cruise 
of water, and a few dried dates. I was for- 
tunate in him. He had learned the ways 



92 EGYPT. 

of the traveller, understood your frown, 
your glance, your beckon, and that motion 
of the hand, by which you show your wish 
that he should leave you to gaze alone and 
unobserved. 

There are no ruins like these ruins : in 
the first court you pass into, you find one 
large, lofty, solitary column, erect among 
heaped and scattered fragments, which had 
formed a colonnade of one-and-twenty like 
it. You pause awhile, and then move 
slowly on. You enter a wide portal, and find 
yourself surrounded by one hundred and 
fifty columns *, on which I defy any man, 
sage or savage, to look unmoved. Their 
vast proportions the better taste of after 
days rejected and disused ; but the still as- 
tonishment, the serious gaze, the thicken- 
ing breath of the awed traveller, are tributes 
of an admiration, not to be checked or fro- 
zen by the chilling rules of taste. The '' des 
masses informes'' of Voltaire would have 



* The central row have the enormous diameter of 
eleven French feet, the others, that of eight. 



EGYPT. 93 

been exchanged, I think, for a very dif- 
ferent expression, if he had ever wandered 
to the site of ancient Thebes. 

As I passed out of the ruin, I saw my 
companions at a distance, and joined them. 
Monsieur R. had conducted them to his fa- 
vourite spot for catching a first and general 
view of the ruins ; a lofty heap of sand and 
rubbish, lying between the eastern and nor- 
thern gates : certainly from hence you com- 
mand the ruins well. A forest of columns, 
massive propylsea, lofty gates, tall obelisks, 
a noble assemblage of objects. Yet was I 
glad that I had first approached by the 
avenue of the sphinxes. 

We passed the entire day in these ruins, 
wandering about alone, as inclination led us. 
Detailed descriptions I cannot give ; I have 
neither the skill or the patience to count 
and to measure. I ascended a wing of the 
great propylon on the west, and sat there 
long : I crept round the colossal statues ; 
I seated myself on a fallen obelisk, and 
gazed up at the three, yet standing erect 
amid huge fragments of fallen granite. I 



94 EGYPT. 

sauntered slowly round every part, exam- 
ining the paintings and hieroglyphics, and 
listening now and then, not without a smile, 
to our polite little cicero7ie, as with the 
air of a condescending savant^ he pointed 
to many of the symbols, saying, " this 
means water," and " that means land," "this 
stability," "that life," and "here is the name 
of Berenice." In reply to a quiet question 
I did get the modest admission of the 
" on dit'^ Great and laudable as have been 
the labours of a Young, and a Champol- 
lion, and though a corner of the sacred 
veil has certainly been lifted up, by their 
patient investigations, yet still these walls 
are covered with hieroglyphic characters, 
which look out alike upon the learned 
and the ignorant, with a bright and mock- 
ing distinctness, awakening curiosity, exer- 
cising the fancy, but, after all, defying 
the understanding. Monsieur R. showed 
us some statues of a colossal, and also 
others of a natural size, which he had lately 
dug out near the eastern gate : moreover, 
two sphinxes he had been fortunate enough 



EGYPT. 95 

to uncover, in his^ excavations on the south 
side; one of these had the nose broken by 
the workmen, the other was perfect : to the 
beauty of the mouth, lip, the smile, and 
the soft roundness of the lower cheek, and 
chin, I bear most willing testimony. It is 
thought, and untruly thought by many, at 
home, that the Egyptian sculptors could 
never have attained the power of conveying 
either a fine or pleasing expression of coun- 
tenance. The human figures found in re- 
lief, and painted on the walls, both of the 
temples and tombs in ancient Thebes, have 
in all their profiles a like beauty — all is 
mildness ; graver in the male forms. Gen- 
tle, very gentle, and sweet is the smile, 
and soft the look, in almost all the figures 
of Isis which I saw ; and I was, moreover, 
particularly struck by one thing, which 
forms a very remarkable contrast to group- 
ings, not otherwise dissimilar, on some of 
the pagodas in India : wherever the god 
Mendes is introduced, and Isis, or other 
deities, or priests, or worshippers before him, 
all is grave, calm, and more serious than in 



96 EGYPT. 

the other representations. What, there* 
fore, of the sacred and the solemn did 
originally attach to such odious and inde- 
cent representations, we may, in some mea- 
sure suppose ; and whither idolatry, in all 
its awful errors, soon tended, not only the 
sacred Scriptures inform us, but the very 
pagan himself: — 

" Who knows not now, my friend, the secret rites 
Of the good goddess ; when the dance excites 
The boiling blood, when to distraction wound 
By wine, and music's stimulating sound, 
The votaries of Priapus, with wild air 
Howl horrible, and toss their flowing hair." 

But away, reader, away ! come with me ; 
step over that fallen capital ; put your foot 
on that fragment of a cornice ; clamber 
over those masses of enormous stones ; 
now stoop, and enter this obscure and darker 
part of the ruin. The roof here has never 
fallen in ; and here are two rows of pillars, 
with faded colours on them — the columns 
are, but the colours evidently not, the an- 
cient Egyptian ; you may distinctly trace 



EGYPT. 97 

the outline, on two of them, of such heads 
as are still to be seen in the rude paintings 
in Coptic churches ; on one, too, you may 
see an inscription in red paint, of a like 
colour ; it records the names and meeting 
of some humble, persecuted Coptic bishops, 
who once held their unostentatious coun- 
cil here, in a secluded spot, which served 
as a shelter and retreat for the worship and 
service of the true God, and the instruction 
of their flocks. Yes, in the solitude of 
these ruins, a weak small sect, who, having 
little strength, yet kept His word, have read 
the gospel of Christ, have bowed and wept 
before the throne of grace, and have sung 
the song of Moses to the ancient accompa- 
niment of the loud cymbal ! Here, even 
here, where the priests of Pharaoh have 
sacrificed, and where Babvlonian revellers 
may have stalled their foaming horses, 
spread their silken carpets, and drank 
from their golden wine-cups, after fulfil- 
ling what they knew not to be the will 
of the Most High ! 

We met together in the evening of this 

H 



98 EGYPT. 

day on a mound of rubbish, to the south- 
west of the ruins ; saw them gilded by the 
the rich set of sun ; then mounted our 
asses and ambled home. Passing, in our 
path, spots where the ox, and the cow, and 
the ram pastured, no longer venerated ; and 
casting a stone in anger at the barking dog, 
unchecked by any fear of offending Anubis, 
or the demoniac Nephthe. 

Our next visit was to Gournon : we 
crossed the river ; landed under a large tree 
of the Pharaoh fig, and again ambled away 
on asses, to explore more ruins. 

The first to which you are conducted, are 
those of the Memnonium. Here, again, you 
have thick lofty walls ; a noble portico, with 
columns of more than eight feet in diameter ; 
tall terminal caryatides, standing out from 
square pillars, in high full relief: their 
heads have been broken off and destroyed, 
or removed ; near them, lie the vast and 
shattered fragments of a huge colossus, of 
red granite ; and not far removed, a large, 
though smaller figure, of black polished 
granite, has been overthrown and broken. 



EGYPT. 99 

On one of the walls of the Memnonium is 
represented a war scene ; it is rudely cut in 
on the close-joined stones, and, though 
roughly executed, full of fire: the hero (as 
compared to the figures of the rest) is of a 
giant size ; he stands erect in his chariot ; 
his horses on their speed — a high cloud- 
pawing gallop ; his arrow drawn to the 
head ; the reins fastened round his un- 
moved loins : you have the flight of the 
vanquished ; the headlong fallings of the 
horse and the chariot : you have the hurry- 
ing crowd of the soldiers on foot ; a river ; 
drownings ; the succouring of warriors on 
the opposite bank : and in a compartment 
beyond, you have a walled town ; a storm ; 
the assailants climbing ladders ; the defend- 
ers on the parapet ; the upheld shield ; the 
down-thrust pike ; a sad, but yet a stirring 
picture, bringing to your mind many an 
historic scene, alike memorable and me- 
lancholy. Here there is a very curious inci- 
dent portrayed, which one of ray compa- 
nions pointed out to me — a group recover- 
ing a drowned person, who is held with 

H 2 



..^'^ 



100 EGYPT. 

his head downwards, his hair falling as wet 
hair does, and on his stomach one of the 
attendants is pressing with an open flat 
hand, as is our custom to this day. 

We passed on to a small temple of Isis, 
which has been left in a most perfect state, 
and has the appearance of being far more 
modern than any on either side of the ri- 
ver ; the roof entire, three shrines or cells, 
side by side, and divided by walls : in all of 
them the figures of Isis, both seated and 
standing, are of uncommon beauty. Figures 
of the wolf, both passant and couchant, are 
often repeated : there is a bark, with the 
cow of Isis ; a hawk admirably done : the 
head-dress of Isis very elegant ; and the 
disposition of colours and design in the or- 
namental borderings round the walls pro- 
ducing a very pleasing effect. 

From hence we bade our guide conduct 
us to some catacombs : he did so, in the 
naked hill just above. Some are passages, 
some, pits ; but, in general, passages in the 
side of the hill. Here and there you may 
find a bit of the rock or clay, smoothed 



EGYPT. 101 

and painted, or bearing the mark of a thin 
fallen coating of composition ; but, for the 
most part, they are quite plain. Bones, 
rags, and the scattered limbs of skeletons, 
which have been torn from their coffins, 
stripped of their grave-clothes, and robbed 
of the sacred scrolls, placed with them in 
the tomb, lie in or around these " open 
sepulchres." We found nothing ; but 
surely the very rag blown to your feet is 
a relic. May it not have been woven by 
some damsel under the shade of trees, with 
with the song that lightens labour, twenty 
centuries ago? or may it not have been 
carried with a sigh to the tiring-men of the 
temple by one who bought it to swathe 
the cold and stiffened limbs of a being 
loved in life, and mourned and honoured 
in his death ? Yes, it is a relic ; and one 
musing on which a warm fancy might 
find wherewithal to beguile a long and 
solitary walk. 

We descended to the temple of Medinet 
Habou: ruined mud hovels are scattered 
on a level witii its roof, and, indeed, upon 

H 3 



102 EGYPT. 

it. In this temple you find a large open 
court, surrounded with cloisters, which are 
supported by massive square pillars, and 
also by columns; figures of deities and hiero- 
glyphics are depicted on them ; and, upon 
the walk around, scenes of war and tri- 
umph are everywhere portrayed. You have 
the hero borne upon a sacred litter, and 
others in his train ; before him, a damsel 
(not Isis) on foot ; also another figure in 
robes, reading from a tablet. Again, you 
have a procession, priests, captives, guards, 
all grouped in order. Again, you have 
the hero thrice represented in different 
scenes and situations ; in one, the steeds 
of his chariot have the easy proud prance 
of state ; in another, they are in the gallop 
of fury ; in the third, they are standing 
still. The monarch is seated in his chariot 
with his person turned to the rear, and 
looking on a high and horrid heap of 
amputated hands piled up before him ; and 
there are captives advancing to suffer ; and 
others holding up their mutilated arms ; 
and executioners ; and here again are robed 



EGYPT. 



loa 



figures writing on tablets. The hero is 
always depicted of a giant size, as if he 
were not " allied to human kind :" 

" Strange, that such foliy, as lifts bloated man 
To eminence fit only for a god, 
Should ever drivel out of human lips 
Even in the cradled weakness of the world." 

In one of the courts of the very temple 
thus adorned, are the clear vestiges of a 
Christian place of worship : the altar and 
the small columns which supported the 
nave of its small choir, poor and humble 
do they look in the midst of such ruins as 
these ; but to the Christian eye they are 
arrayed with glory. Here men confessing 
Christ, the Saviour of the world, have knelt 
in prayer : — " Who shall say that Christ 
was not present, dimly seen perhaps ; yet 
felt with secret reverence and affection!"^ 

We rode back to the Memnonium, visited 
some other catacombs to the northward of 
it, and stopped before many of those which 
have been converted by the poor Arabs 

* Vide Christian Researches, by the Rev. Mr» 
Jowett. 

H 4 



104 EGYPT. 

into dwellings, to try if we could meet with 
a mummy in a perfect state : we were not 
successful. We purchased a few trifles 
which these men, taught by us to " ransack 
up the quiet grave," bring eagerly for sale, 
and then returned across the plain to our 
boat, passing and pausing before those 
celebrated statues so often described : they 
are seated on thrones, looking to the east, 
and on the Nile : in this posture they are 
upwards of fifty feet in height ; and their 
bodies, limbs, and heads, are large, spread- 
ing, and disproportioned. A frantic victor 
baffled by the secret of its strange music, 
bade his myrmidons drag down one of 
these colossal heads ; but soon after, priests 
rebuilt it, and renewed the juggle, to the 
success of which many inscriptions on the 
statue bear testimony : among others, one 
Claudius Maximus, of the XXII legion, 
states that he heard the voice — it is silent 
now. These are very awful monuments ; 
they bear the form of man ; and there is a 
something in their very posture which 
touches the soul : they sit erect, calm ; 
they have seen generation upon gener- 



EGYPT. 105 

ation swept away, and still their stonj 
gaze is fixed on man toiling and perishing 
at their feet 'Twas late and dark ere we 
reached our home. The day following we 
again crossed to the western bank, and 
rode through a narrow hcyt valley in the 
desert to the tombs of the kings. Your 
Arab catches at the head of your ass in a 
wild dreary-looking spot, about five miles 
from the river, and motions you to alight. 
On every side of you rise low, but steep 
hills, of the most barren appearance, 
covered with loose sand and crumbling 
stones, and you stand in a narrow bridle- 
path, which seems to be the bottom of a 
natural ravine : you would fancy that you 
had lost your way, but your guide leads 
you a few paces forward, and you discover 
in the side of the hill an opening like 
the shaft of a mine. At the entrance you 
observe that the rock, which is a close- 
grained, but soft stone, has been cut smooth 
and painted. He lights your wax torch, 
and you pass into a long corridor; on either 
side are small apartments which you stoop 
down to enter, and the walls of which you 



106 EGYPT. 

find covered with paintings: scenes of life 
faithfully represented ; of every day life, its 
pleasures and labours ; the instruments of 
its happiness, and of its crimes. You turn 
to each other with a delight, not however 
unmixed with sadness, to mark how much 
the days of man then passed, as they do to 
this very hour. You see the labours of 
agriculture — the sower, the basket, the 
plough ; tlie steers ; and the artist has play- 
fully depicted a calf skipping among the 
furrows. You have the making of bread, 
the cooking for a feast ; you have a flower 
garden, and a scene of irrigation ; you see 
couches, sophas, chairs, and arm-chairs, 
such as might, this day, adorn a drawing- 
room in London or Paris ; you have vases 
of every form down to the common jug (ay! 
such as the brown one of Toby Philpot) ; 
you have harps, with figures bending over 
them, and others seated and listening ; you 
have barks, with large, curious, and many- 
coloured sails ; lastly, you have weapons of 
war, the sword, the dagger, the bow, the 
arrow, the quiver, spears, helmets, and 
dresses of honour. 



EGYPT. 107 

From the corridor with these lateral 
chambers you enter another, long and 
dark, leading to an empty apartment, large 
and lofty, and thence into a third passage, 
and other chambers beyond, which are 
gloomy, damp, and have a disagreeable 
smell. The colours on the walls are much 
faded ; but the hero of the tomb and the 
various deities, hieroglyphics, and mysteries, 
are everywhere to be seen: some of the 
mysteries are of a nature to exercise and 
amuse the mind. Doubtless many import- 
ant and eternal truths, distorted by tra- 
dition, lie hidden beneath these ancient 
symbols, however, the fancy treads too 
closely on the understanding in most minds 
when an attempt is made to guess our way 
to interpretation, which will meet and 
strengthen our preconceived notions and 
established opinions. 

We next went to visit the tomb dis- 
covered by Mr. Belzoni. It really is like a 
scene of magic ; the sudden transition from 
the naked solitude of the silent, unpeopled, 
scorching desert, into chambers, all adorned 
with brilliant and vivid paintings. Is this 



1 08 EGYPT. 

a tomb ? It cannot be. Come, come, Alad- 
din, rub thy lamp and order supper ; these 
halls are suited to the banquet and the 
song : but it is a tomb, these are the cham- 
bers of the grave — the embalmed body of 
a monarch lay here once ; or, perhaps, ere 
the decorations of this, which should have 
been his last long home, were completed, 
war called him forth, he perished far away, 
and the piety or superstition of his succes- 
sor did suddenly suspend the work and 
closed it up, as he vainly thought, for ever. 
For whomever it was intended, his life and 
station, his creed and priests, did cheat 
him of the salutary fears of death. Every- 
where he is welcomed, not to the tomb 
merely, but the high heaven beyond it. 
Isis is, in many places, depicted meeting 
him with the sweet smile of beauty : 
alas ! human beauty (and hers is human) 
smiles not in the grave. She is once repre- 
sented giving him the sacred tau (the key 
of life) ; everywhere Arueris, the hawk- 
headed deity, and Anubis, receive him with 
reverence ; even Typhon and Nephthe 
itand awed before him ; and when led 



EGYPT. 109 

before Osiris, who is seated on his throne, 
Isis comes encouragingly with him, and 
Arueris, behind, seems declaring his titles 
to the apotheosis accorded. The other 
scenes on the walls represent processions 
and mysteries, and all the apartments are 
covered with them or hieroglyphics. There 
is a small chamber with the cow of Isis, 
and there is one large room in an unfinished 
state, — designs chalked off, that were to 
have been completed on that to-morrow, 
which never came. 

We visited a third tomb, corridors, pas- 
sages, a large chamber, a broken sarco- 
phagus, a passage, and small apartments 
beyond. In one there were many inscrip- 
tions in Greek and Latin characters, prin- 
cipally names ; also those of English, 
French, and German travellers. I stood 
long before one of them ; it was written in 
a small neat hand in pencil, and ran thus : 
'^Ibrahim — post Reditum suum a Limitibus 
Regni Dongolce,^'' Lamented Burckhardt ! 
long will it be ere traveller like thee be 
found. How little a man feels himself as 
he thinks on a life passed like that of Burck- 



110 EGYPT. 

hardt, in patient toil, and self-denial, in 
study without remission, and in the sad 
and cheerless path of lone and solitary en- 
terprise. 

We devoted another long day to these 
tombs, and we also visited some others ; in 
two we found broken sarcophagi, and in the 
dark and dismal passages of one, we dis- 
turbed innumerable bats ; the inner apart- 
ments were filled with dirt, and the smell 
was horrid. The bats flew blindly round, 
and touched you with their skinny wings, 
and gave that indescribable cry, which, 
were they larger, would be a blood-curdling 
screech ; and, as you returned back from the 
inner passages, and caught the light of day 
at the mouth of the sepulchre, the atmo- 
sphere, and they too, as they flew in it, had 
a pale, blue, unearthly hue. Quite a scene, 
that Valley of the Kings, for Arabian Fiction 
to lay her wonders in ; by the way, the 
Arabs here, I was informed, did many of 
them look upon and fear Belzoni, as some 
mighty magician. 

Of course while we remained at Luxore, 
we constantly, according to our bent, vi- 



EGYPT. Ill 

sited something, and happily employed our 
time. 

There is a beautiful walk up the river, 
on the eastern bank, and at a bend there, 
you may run up on a raised camel-path, 
and turning command a view, which fills 
the mind at the moment, takes its place in 
the picture gallery of the imagination, and 
is often afterwards summoned to the 
mind's eye. Luxore ; Karnac ; the ruins on 
the western bank, with the rocky hills 
behind them ; the reaches of the tranquil 
river (that stream the Nile) ; the verdure of 
the vale; the sands of the Arabian Desert; 
the grand colonnade of Luxore in shadow; 
the back of the propylon ; the pointed 
obelisks ; and the large masses of Karnac, 
with the scattered groves of dates, in the 
light of the setting sun, are the noble fea- 
tures of this scene. 

Nothing is more difficult than to procure 
here any little antiques of value, to carry 
away with you as memorials of your visit : 
the Arabs, indeed, bring you little mummy 
ornaments, such as little termini of wood 



112 EGYPT. 

or pottery, which are always found in the 
tombs ; also scarabsei, rings of wood or 
pottery, scraps of papyrus, and a variety 
of trifles which I cannot name : but these 
are sure to be the mere refuse of the pri- 
vileged collectors, and of the many sharp- 
witted non-descripts in their service. The 
ground is regularly parcelled out on both 
sides of the river : here England may 
dig, there France ; this is Mr. Salt's 
ground, that Mr. Drovetti's ; here Lord 
BeJmore made excavations, there an Ame- 
rican traveller. The Arab fellahs get their 
twenty paras a day, and work as little as 
possible for the money. French and Ita- 
hans, generally in Turkish costume, that is, 
in a sortof half and half dress, are their task- 
masters, and do not hesitate to strike them, 
to which they submit, laugh, scowl, or run 
away. I saw one of these parties, and 
watched them long ; a man was directing 
them in the common Arab dress, the brown 
zaboot*, had a beard, and quite an Arab 

* Cloak. 



EGYPT. 113 

complexion ; indeed, lie had been for some 
time the evening before at our house, to 
arrange about the hire of a boat, and we 
took him for a common Arab, till he said 
something to Monsieur R. in good French^ 
with the true accent of his country. 

With this man I had some conversation ; 
he told me that he had deserted from the 
French army in Egypt, that numbers of 
his countrymen had done the same, and 
that he was married, and settled in the 
country, — a renegade, in fact. I asked him 
if " la France, la belle France," with her 
wines and her pleasures, never entered his 
head ; he gave a kind of shrug, and with a 
sort of imploring look said, " Mais Mon- 
sieur, ah oui, mais en fin que voulez vous ?" 
Well, thought I to myself, I understand 
you ; " a quoi bon ?" You make all your 
little excursions at Thebes on jackasses, 
driven by Arab or Coptic boys all dirty, 
laughing, and good-tempered, glad to have 
the light work, and double pay they get 
from you ; you are terribly pestered at all 



114 EGYPT. 

times, by people who ask " Backsheesh*,'* 
more from idleness, habit, and amusement, 
than want. You soon pick up a few words 
of vulgar Arabic, and from necessity learn 
others. In walking in the bazaar of the 
village on a market-day, I singled out a 
fine-looking young man, a Copt, and 
(through Mohammed, our Arab) asked him 
many things about the inhabitants of his 
persuasion. I learned from him, that their 
church was about five miles away, among 
the hills ; that all who attended, went there 
on the Saturday afternoon for an evening 
and midnight service, and returned on the 
Sunday morning to their homes, where 
they then enjoyed themselves according to 
their means ; that they were not more op- 
pressed than the Arab fellahs, nor by them : 
there is though some slight capitation 
tax, which has been immemorially paid. 

I learned from other quarters, that the 
Copts are more intelligent, more often in 
employ, and more provident (compara- 



* A present. 



EGYPT. 115 

tively) than the common Arabs, among 
whom they are settled ; but there is little 
perceptible difference to the eye of a 
stranger even in their appearance. Pro- 
visions here are cheap ; bread two paras * 
a loaf (a small one) ; eggs three, and some- 
times five for one para, and other things in 
proportion : their hovels and furniture cost 
little : the zaboot or brown cloak, with 
loose cumbersome sleeves, costs twelve or 
thirteen piastres (fourpence each) ; both 
Copt and Arab live in it night and day ; 
some have a coarse shirt, some not ; in warm 
weather they v/ear a cotton robe of the same 
blue colour as that used by our butchers, of 
a very coarse quality ; and it is astonishing 
what a difference even this trifle makes in 
their appearance ; they have a more clean, 
healthy, cheerful look altogether. 

The man who has been accustomed to 
associate the idea of something picturesque 
and noble with the robe and the turban 



Five hundred paras make the Spanish dollar, 
i2 



1 16 EGYPT; 

of the Mohammedan, must not, however^ 
come among the fellahs of Egypt. 

We were desirous before we quitted 
Thebes, of procuring, if possible, a good 
specimen of a mummy ; some Arabs 
brought three in their painted cases. These 
cases are painted bright and gaudily, with 
hieroglyphics and figures of Typhon and 
Nephthe ; they are shaped to the body, 
and on the lid, a face or mask is drawn,^ 
and wooden hands are placed across the 
centre closely grasped ; and this coffin at 
the feet is formed like termini, so that it 
may be set upright if need be, and they 
are often so found. The bodies had evi- 
dently not been unrolled, and hoping to 
find a papyrus roll, or to see a face pre- 
served in feature, and a body embalmed, 
we eagerly set about unrolling the long 
narrow bandages, in which the tire-men of 
other davs had swathed it, when sorrow 
was yet fresh with those who loved it 
living ; and who, could they rise and see 
such profanation, would with frantic rage 
avenge it. Nothing is so cruel, or rather 



EGYPT. 117 

unfeeling as curiosity ; now the body was 
to be turned ; now held upright ; laid 
down ; and again lifted. A black Indian, 
our fine young Arab, and our four selves, all 
busily engaged, and the sellers* standing 
by with a smile ; it was a long operation, 
and as the last folds were removed, the 
skeleton, a mere skeleton, looked on us as 
that eyeless thing can look, and fell limb 
from limb, and bone from bone at our 
feet. 

The following day,- March the 20th, we 
left Thebes in a maash M. Rifaud had 
assisted us in hiring ; and embarking in the 
afternoon dropped down the river. 

Many ruins have I gazed upon — from 
my boyhood up I loved such scenes ; but 
none that I know can compare for awful 
grandeur and sad sublimity of aspect, with 
those which still look upon the broad Nile 



* These practised riflers of the grave know at a glance 
"whether it is a mummy of the first, second, or third 
class ; and they will put one of the latter into an empty 
case belonging to a higher, and sell it to the stranger^ 

I 3 



118 * EGYPT. 

when, in the season of his strength, his 
*' crowded waters glitter to the moon," still 
watch the season of sowing time, and 
harvest on his fertile banks, and still, all 
open as they are to the " blast of the 
desert," in strong and proud masses mark 
where Egyptian Thebes, " the world's great 
empress, — " tiie terror of other times," 
once laughed within her hundred gates 1 
Jacet obruta ! . 

Your first stage down the river is 
Khenne, a town of some consequence, be- 
ing a depot for the export and import com- 
merce carried on between Cairo and Djidda. 
Here the corn of Egypt and the gums of 
Arabia are still bartered against each other. 
Numerous pilgrims, also, from Africa pass 
through this place, on their route to Mecca, 
via Kosseir. The houses are meanly built, 
the streets narrow and dirty, and the bazaars, 
containing only such goods and provisions 
as Asiatic travellers require on their pas- 
sage, present a busy, but by no means a gay 
or rich appearance. We saw here a group 
of Moggrebyns, in their white woollen 

9 



EGYPT. 119 

robes with the hood up. They only want 
the cord, as you view them from behind, to 
pass for the gloomy disciples of St. Bruno ; 
but when they turn, a dark eye flashes on 
you, and a swarthy complexion speaks of 
the great desert of Libya, which they had 
been weeks, or rather months, in traversing. 
In Khenne are a good many Albanian 
soldiers, men not young, or so fine in their 
appearance as those we saw at Djidda. As 
usual, they sat cross-legged before the coffee- 
houses, or lounged slowly in the streets. In 
this place, too, are numbers of public wo- 
men, who go about openly, with their faces 
uncovered. They are very plain, bad 
figures, and of a coarse, disgusting appear- 
ance. " Divers with their chinnes distained 
into knots,and flowers of blue, made by prick- 
ing of the skin with needles, and rubbing 
it over with inke, and the juyce of an hearb, 
which will never weare out again." You 
may buy here good vessels for holding and 
purifying water, made of a fine porous clay. 
They manufacture the like, but far better, at 
Arcot, in the Carnatic. 

I 4 



120 DENDERA. 

On the 22d we brought-to near Dendera. 
This temple is in a most perfect state ; has 
a magnificent portico, a noble cornice, and 
twenty-four large Isis-headed columns — a 
strange sort of capital : there are four faces 
on each ; and they are marked as those of 
Isis, by the ears of the cow. On the roof 
of this portico you fancy, and delight to 
fancy, that you trace the zodiac. The signs 
Leo, Sagittarius, and Taurus struck me as 
finely and boldly executed. There is a 
staircase to the roof of this temple, or 
rather leading to apartments near it, re- 
markably commodious. The steps are so 
very low that the priests might carry up 
and down the weighty paraphernalia of sa- 
crifice, and even animals might easily be led 
up. On either side, the wall is quite cover- 
ed with figures of priests in relief, carrying 
banners, sacred arks, and vessels for the 
ofFerin2:s. In one of the small dark cham- 
bers above I remarked a Sphinx, that is, in 
head and attitude, but having the limbs be- 
hind also human. The recumbent corpse, 
and the cynocephalus over it, is a common 



DENDERA. 121 

representation round this apartment, which 
has quite a sepulchral appearance. Here, 
and in an anterooix], you observe on the 
ceiling three large human figures, one within 
the other, and hieroglyphic characters in 
the midst. The circular zodiac * has been 
removed. We knew not this at the time, 
and of course looked for it in vain. Much 
learned dust has been raised about it in 
Europe, and not a little here. Let the 
Frenchmen make the most of it. Philoso- 
phers, especially French philosophers, may 
^' write many folios" before they disturb 
that humble belief in, and affectionate re- 
verence for, the Bible, which form the Eng- 
lish character, and which have been avowed 
by such men as a Jones, a Locke, and a 
Newton. Several lions' heads are seen 
round the walls of the temple on the out- 
side, the mouths of small ducts to let off 
water. The figures in relief on these walls, 
more particularly on that to the westward, 
are of great beauty. The dresses, in gene- 
ral, are in a superior taste, and of a richer 

* Or mythological tablet, or whatever it is. 



122 DENDEliA. 

cast, than those on the forms at Karnac 
and Luxore. Isis here is, in two or three 
places, represented with a dress, fitting close 
to her shape, and of the most elegant scale- 
work, a sort of female panoply, such as 
Cleopatra might have worn, when, in a fa- 
mous procession at Alexandria, she person- 
ated the goddess. 

This temple, however, all grand and per- 
fect as it is, as compared to those of 
Thebes, is evidently modern in its date. 
Here there are none of those war scenes 
depicted which constitute such rei^arkable 
features in the sculptures on the propylaea, 
and even in the interior of those sacred 
edifices, and which so clearly (judging from 
the eye at least) refer to wars and triumphs, 
at a period when her monarchs were rich 
and secure at home, powerful and victorious 
abroad. 

But this beautiful ruin (if ruin it may be 
called), the first, or nearly so, which greets 
the curious traveller, as he ascends the Nile, 
and calls forth his feelings of admiration, 
in all their freshness, cannot have the same 
charm for those who visit it after a sojourn 



DENDERA. 123 

at Thebes. To one, however, who has just 
quitted a country where the priest still 
officiates, and the worshipper bows down, 
and prostrates himself in the temples of 
idolatry, who is familiar with the aspect, 
the habits and customs, the rites and cere- 
monies of the Hindoo, this temple is an 
object of no common interest; for here the 
Indian soldier fancied that he recognised 
the very gods he worshipped, and with sad- 
ness and indignation complained to his 
officers that the sanctuary of his god was 
neglected and profaned. He saw a square 
and massive building, a colossal head on the 
capitals of huge columns ; on the walls, the 
serpent ; the lingam, in the priapus, the 
bull of Iswara, in the form of Apis ; Ga- 
ruda, in Arueris ; Hanuman, in the round- 
headed cynocephalus ; a crown, very similar 
to that of Siva, on the head of Osiris ; and 
in the swelling bosom of Isis, that of the 
goddess Parvati : while, on the staircase, 
the priests and the sacred ark must have 
reminded him, and strongly^ of the Brah- 
mins, and of the palanquin litter of his 
native country. Many, many forms he 



124 



DENDERA. 



must have missed^ many too have observed, 
to which he was an entire stranger. But 
enough he saw to awaken all the dearest and 
most sacred recollections of his distant land 
and the gods of his fathers, and, for their 
honour and his own soothing, to believe all 
that he hoped and wished was the truth. 

What a moment to have told the Hindoo 
— " If these are your gods they cannot, for 
they could not, save. Nearly 2000 years have 
rolled silently away, andthis templehas stood, 
as you now see it, forsaken, solitary ; no flame 
of sacrifice on its shrines, no voice of wor- 
shippers within its gates : a people, re- 
nowned in their day, more ancient than you, 
better instructed in the arts of peace, more 
formidable in those of war, once bowed 
down their bodies in these empty courts ; 
they have perished from off the face of the 
earth; a remnant, a feeble remnant, was 
spared ; they confess, and, through nearly 
eighteen centuries of persecution, they have 
steadily confessed the true and only God. 
In wretchedness and in poverty, in sorrow, 
yet with that hope which lightens sorrow, 
their eyes are fixed on the cross of Christ ; 



DENI>ERA. 125 

darkly they see, brightly shall their poste- 
rity see its glories. We know that the pro- 
phets of our God declared that the idols of 
Egypt shouldbe moved^vjhen that nation was, 
in its generation, wiser and mightier than 
yours. You see that they have been moved. 
Oh ! forget not this ; lay it to your heart ; 
think not we scorn your faithfulness towards 
the gods of your fathers. No ; we vene- 
rate you for your piety ; but we know your 
worship to be vain, and, alas, we weep to 
think of the lasting bitterness of its fruit." 
Thus many a British officer might, and 
must have thought, and may, perhaps, have 
said. Yet there is danger, say others, in 
thus striving to enlighten the ignorance and 
shake the prejudice of the Hindoo ; give 
him no new notions ; he is a very useful 
creature as he is ; he eats our salt, and 
fights our battles, and let him live and 
die as his fathers have done before him ; 
he has as good a chance of going to Heaven 
as you or I : why, the Scripture declara- 
tions concerning idolatry we know, and 
we know that there can be but one God, 
one Heaven, and one way to it ; but I be- 



126 DENDERA. 

lieve*5 and firmly^ that mercj will be ex- 
tended hereafter to milhons hi that name, 
which they never heard on earth, and that 
the awe-struck Cliristian may see the slave ^ 
wdiom he has used and scorned in this 
world, enlightened, saved, and glorified, in 
that which is to come. 



" Doing good, 



Disinterested good, is not our trade /" 

And yet, England, thou art the first among 
the nations ; more have you done for the 
slave, and the idolater, than any other. 
Nor do these alone look to you ; the si- 

* In a very different spirit, however, from such an 
objector — 

- " The partial light men have, 
My creed persuades me, well employ'd, may save." 

See the golden lines in Cowper's Poem on Truth, on 
this most momentous of all considerations. I am not, 
I feel certain, taking any liberty with that passage, when 
I apply it to men struggling under idolatiy and in sla- 
very, who, without the high gifts of the heathen sages, 
have in patience possessed their souls, and shown " the 
work of the law in their hearts :" — 

** A flame 
Celestial, though they knew not whence it came, 
Derived from the same source of light and grace, 
Tliat guides the Christian in his swifter race." 



DENDERA. 127 

lent and the sad, who mourn for their de- 
graded countries, and see assembled despots 
forging new fetters for their children, look 
to you, perhaps with the murmur of im- 
patience, but always with the free acknow- 
ledgment that you are 

" The hope of every other land." 

The banks of the Nile, all fertile as they 
are, have a very tame and naked appear- 
ance, compared to those of the Ganges ; 
and the dull costume of the people gives an 
increased air of mournfulness to the land- 
scape, when their figures group into the 
scene. They are, indeed, remarkably con- 
trasted to the Indians, who have been 
beautifully described by an ancient English 
author as " a people clothed in linen gar- 
ments, somewhat low descending, of a 
gesture and a garb maidenly, and well nigh 
effeminate, of a countenance shy and 
somewhat estranged, yet smiling out a 
glozed and bashful familiarity."* But I 
ramble, and forget that I am in Egypt. 

* This quotation is in a discourse of the late Sir 
William Jones, and taken from an author named Lord. 
I never read or met with the Travels. 



128 BENDER A. 

Girge is a town which has a tolerable ap-* 
pearance. Its minarets peep out above the 
dates, after a manner that is pleasing to 
the eye. We took a walk in the bazaar; 
it is large, covered with awnings, but little 
stir in it. I observed a party of well-dressed 
Turks, one of them was playing a guitar, 
A Turk and a guitar ! In a small narrow 
street I observed a whole row of drug- 
shops. The mosques are good for this 
part of the world. Lanterns of paper 
hang before many of the best-built houses. 
In a small square, near the governor's, 
stood several horses, in their velvet hous- 
ings, with their broad, clumsy, shovel stir- 
rups, hanging short from the saddle. We 
ascended a little mound in the suburbs, it 
commanded a very richly cultivated plain, 
covered with a green and waving crop, 
which is seen to great advantage, from the 
absence of enclosures. There is a barrack 
at this place, and we found two regiments 
of the pashas new levy encamped near it. 
They are a strange mixture of Arabs, Nu- 
bians, and blacks, clothed in uniforms made 
after the Turkish fashion, armed after the 



DENDERA. 129 

European manner, and instructed by Euro- 
peans in the tactics of the French school. 
There was an air of regularity in the en- 
campment, and several of the officers' tents 
were green, which had a lively novel look. 
One of the native commanders sent his 
dragoman to invite us to his tent. It 
was open to the front, and he sat upon a 
divan with large crimson cushions; cushions 
of the same were placed for us. He was 
very civil, proud of his command, and evi- 
dently not less so of the little knowledge he 
had lately gained of European tactics. He 
was a Mamaluke ; his horse, a white one, 
stood saddled, and pawing at his picket post 
a few yards in front of us. We took our 
leave after the usual ceremony of pipes and 
coffee, and returned towards our boat : we 
were met by an invitation from the in- 
structor of the brigade (a Frenchman), 
who had been himself to call on us, 
during our absence, and we proceeded' 
to his house ; we mounted several flights 
of stairs, to a large apartment, at the 
top of his crazy mansion ; soon after 

K 



1^0 DENDERA. 

our host entered, a man, about thirty, 
looking delighted to see us, all courteous- 
ness and vivacity, moving with a restless 
quickness, and talking with a natural rapi- 
dity little in character with the cumbrous 
folds of his Mamaluke trowsers, and the 
large turban that shadowed his thin ani- 
mated countenance. He told us much as 
it was, and would have been, no doubt, far 
more communicative, but for the visit of two 
Mamaluke commanders, the one whom we 
had seen in camp, and another a coarse- 
featured, fresh, stout young man of twenty. 
Now caution became necessary, although he 
spoke French, for fear of the renegade 
dragoman. The contempt, it was evident 
to us he felt for all of them, his polite- 
ness and temper concealed ; and so much 
so, that it appeared to me they liked him, 
especially one, of whom, indeed, he spoke 
as very superior to his companion. 

There was also an Italian padre of the 
party, a quiet, civil, intelligent man, in a 
robe and turban of dark blue. We had 
coffee, pipes, la goutte handed round con- 



DENDERA. 131 

tinually, of a wretched kind of aniseed, 
and, to conclude, a supper, a la Turque, 
and a very merry one. They brought water 
and towels ; close to the divan they placed 
a low stool, and a circular tray on it, with 
wooden spoons; eatable plates or thin flat 
cakes of bread ; and then they supplied the 
board with dishes one after another — stews, 
vegetables, a soup rather Frenchy, and cold 
roast fowls, out of consideration, perhaps, 
to us. I wish you had been there, reader, 
particularly if you are a good carver, and if 
you should be somewhat of an epicure, 
liking a full-sized liver wing taken off well 
and delicately, — I say, I wish you had been 
there, to see the young Mamaluke, with 
large hands, not overclean, seize them by 
the back and breast, and giving one strong 
and shape-destroying crush, proceed to tear 
limb from limb, and strew them on the 
board with a smiling and self-satisfied air 
as having done the polite thing. I ate a 
wing with the best grace possible, and after 
more coffee, more pipes, and more aniseed, 

K 2 



132 SIOUT. 

we left our kind young host, and returned 
on board. 

We saw another encampment of these 
troops, as we passed Abutige. We stopped 
a day at Siout, and rode up to the city ; it 
has a very good aspect, that is, compared 
to the many wretched places you con- 
tinually pass on the river. Our first visit 
here was to a French or Italian surgeon, in 
the service of the Pasha Ahmed, and we 
afterwards waited on that prince. He 
holds his audiences in a little chamfcer close 
to the gate (living at a garden-house out 
of the city) ; he may be said to " sit in the 
gate'' He was young, plain, sickly-looking, 
but still he had the air and manner of a 
gentleman, a very rare thing with these 
Turks. There was very little ceremony ; 
but, in the group, which nearly filled the 
chamber, there were two or three persons 
of age and rank, whose silent and grave in- 
tentness of regard towards the young pasha, 
struck me as something to be remembered ; 
his interpreter, who spoke in Turkish tohim^ 
and in Arabic to our youth, Mohammed, 



siouT. " . 133 

had one of those noble-looking faces, which 
at once attract, and his style and manner of 
interpretation had a somewhat of respect- 
ful anxiety in it when he addressed the 
pasha, and of dignity when he looked 
round upon our youthful, and on this occa- 
sion rather alarmed, dragoman, that made 
a good scene to look upon, though nothing 
to describe. We sipped coffee, the pasha 
smoking from a very long pipe, the bowl of 
which rested on a silver receiver. Nothing 
that is said at any of these kind of common 
visits is worth repeating or remembering ; 
a man who has made one, has the fulness 
of experience. 

The indecent manner in which, on leav- 
ing the pasha's, his attendants pressed 
round us for bucksheesh, far exceeded any 
thing we had seen of the kind before, or 
did after, while in Egypt. We saw near 
the wall two fine white or grey mules for 
the saddle ; and soon after the pasha passed 
us in the town riding one, and made us, in 
return for ours, a most courteous salaam. 
Our fine-faced dragoman turned out to be 

K S 



134 siouT. 

a most troublesome, forward man, full of 
mean tricks. He told us the pasha had 
commissioned him to entertain us ; he got 
us into his mean little residence, produced, 
in about two hours, a miserable dish of 
something not eatable, and robbed us of 
time, air, and enjoyment. An hour after 
this meal came four of the pasha's horses ; 
this certainly was pleasant ; these animals 
were large, high-maned, broad-breasted 
creatures, without a sound hoof among 
them, and so fat, that moving beyond the 
true Asiatic procession-pace was out of the 
question. I selected one, which really 
would have been invaluable as a performer 
in Timour the Tartar. He was white, with 
a saddle of crimson velvet, embroidered, 
and had the large shovel Mamaluke stirrup ; 
and he ambled, and tossed his head and 
mane, in a manner quite flattering to me. 
Had I been a pasha with three tails, he 
could not have borne me more proudly. 
The dragoman, mounted on a fine ass, led 
the way, and we rode through the principal 
streets and bazaars, and out to a miserable 



siouT. 135 

garden, shut in by lofty walls, and not worth 
going to see. The caves excavated in the 
side of the mountain to the west of this city 
we had not time to visit ; we only pulled 
up for a few minutes, and gazed on them at 
a distance. 

It was from one of the apertures in the 
rock before us that the emaciated face of 
John of Lycopolis * looked forth upon the 
embassy of Theodosius, and counselled and 
blessed that war, in which a youthful, long- 
haired Goth made his first essay in arms, 
who, in a few years, bathed and banquetted 
as a victor in Athens, and leaned on his 
sword before the walls of Rome, lord of the 
wealth, and arbiter of the lives of twelve 
liundred thousand Romans ! 

On our return to the city we adjourned 
to the French doctor's, and partook of a 
quiet little dinner. There was a sallow, 
melancholy-looking man at table, one of 
Ali Pasha's brigade instructors ; he had 
been twenty years or more in Persia, in a 

* The ancient name of Siout. 
K 4 



136 siouT. 

like situation, and having made several 
thousand dollars, in fact, what he consi- 
dered a fortune, was returning to his native 
country, when he was robbed of all in the 
desert. The doctor, too, had a disappointed 
look, and every now and then pushed up 
the turban from his hot brow, as if he 
longed to be fairly rid of his servitude and 
disguise. Just before we were going away, 
he casually mentioned that he had been a 
prisoner with us, and had been taken in the 
sanguinary affair of Albuera, a red field I 
remember ; but he added, what I could not 
so well understand, that he had afterwards 
been attached for nearly two years to the 
head-quarters of our army, and moved with 
it. Before we left Siout w^e called on the 
Coptic bishop ; he was an aged man, of a 
sick and worn appearance, and sat in a 
darkened apartment, enveloped in his man- 
tle. He seemed surprised, but evidently, 
as far as the indolence of age and ill health 
permitted the expression of it, gratified at 
our visit, which I conveyed to him, through 
the interpreter, was one of simple respect. 



siouT. 137 

His house and room were far more com- 
fortable and decent than we had been led 
to expect. Here, when the coffee-bearer 
presents the cup, he makes a bow and bend 
as if to kiss your hand, — it is not ungrace- 
ful ; mere nothings these, but yet they 
please the wanderer. We now returned to 
our boat, the Smyrniote dragoman and a 
silver stick of the pasha's accompanying us. 
We found that the pasha had sent us sheep, 
fowls, bread, loaf-sugar, and, in fact, a very 
large supply : we gave the full value of 
them in gold, to the two personages above- 
mentioned, who, we all suspected, from 
what the French doctor told us, forced 
themselves forward on purpose, and by their 
power of pettily oppressing, kept away the 
proper servants ; but we had no remedy, 
the paying handsomely the ostensible 
bearers of such a present is the custom. 

As we glided away from Siout, we did 
not forget that tradition assigns it as the 
spot where the Virgin Mother and the in- 
fant Saviour of mankind once fled for shel- 
ter from the oppressor. There are many 



1 38 . MONFALOUT. 

Copts, who, believing this tale, come here 
in their age to die. We may smile at the 
principle on which they do so, and grieve 
at the hopes they found on it, but we can 
deride nothing which may warm piety and 
console afHiction. To this hour there are 
Jews ^'f who will traverse earth and sea to 
lay them down, in the hour of death, in 
that melancholy city, which was once the 
joy of the whole earth. 

Monfalout has a good appearance : the 
rocky hills below, on the right bank, are 
fine ; they are pierced with catacombs and 
cells. We wandered among them, and 
thought of that sad perversion of Scripture, 
which drove the miserable anchorite of the 
early ages, to his rude and cheerless recess, 
his severe and voluntary sufferings. 

There are some foreigners in charge of 
a distillery and a sugar-bakery at Radamont ; 
they sent to beg that we would visit them : 
they are Italians, and superintend this con- 



* Many, too, bring up lo Jerusalem the bones of their 
fathers for burial. 



RADAMONT. 189 

cern for Ali Pasha. One of them con- 
ducted us to the site of Hermopolis : there 
is a fine fragment of its temple ; twelve 
lofty and massive columns. About a mile 
from this spot we found a very large for- 
saken mosque. The barbarian builder had 
plundered some Grecian temple of its light, 
elegant columns, and had placed them 
round the court of the mosque, to support 
the roof of the piazza; capitals of different 
sizes, orders, and material, had been placed 
on them at hazard, and, in many instances, 
reversed capitals formed the pediments. 

There is a manufactory of saltpetre near 
the village. The Italian who had the su- 
perintendence was absent. To the English 
eye everything wore a slovenly, disorderly 
appearance. But talent here has to struggle 
against the jealous influence of intriguing 
courtiers, and the inveterate indolence and 
prejudice of oppressed and superstitious 
labourers. We dined at Radamont, and 
they gave us some Italian confectionary, as 
good as you taste in a caffe at Naples. 

One of our hosts was a young Venetian, 



140 RADAMONT. 

who had been a prisoner of war in England ; 
he had rather a genteel appearance : the 
other was a short dark man, a sort of volti- 
geur countenance and figure, and only 
wanted the moustaches, and the cross of the 
Legion of Honour. Their establishment 
seemed in very good order, but they com- 
plained that their representations no longer 
met with that attention necessary, and 
which they did in the lifetime of Mr. Brine, 
an Englishman long resident here, and who 
died at Cairo. 

Near the bank where we moored, was a 
Coptic convent ; we visited it, a small 
square enclosure, between very high walls ; 
a poor-looking man in a mean garb of 
brown, and with a dirty white turban con- 
ducted us over it ; he was a brother. In 
the church there were three small chapels 
with their altars, all within screens of bone 
and wood- work, rather curiously inlaid; 
some paltry pictures, and the cross plain ! 
there was a very old high-backed chair of 
carved wood, the throne of their poor 
bishops : below was the cemetery with 



RADAMONT. 141 

about half a dozen raised tombs of some of 
their ancient fathers. In one part of the 
enclosure was a chamber, open on one side 
to a court ; it is for the wayfaring man 
and the pilgrim : in other parts there were 
meaner outhouses, with their roofs of reed 
broken in, and left unrepaired ; implements 
of husbandry lying about in disorder ; a 
broken plough ; a dung-heap, with its dull 
red stale-puddles ; oxen and asses in open, 
comfortless sheds ; and often in buildings 
little better, women and children in dirt 
and misery, but yet noisy with something 
like laughing, and the ragged mother hold- 
ing up her sallow infant for your admir- 
ation. We dropped our dollar in his hand : 
all slothful as he is, the Coptic monk per- 
forms some labour, and supports some who 
have natural claims upon him ; and the 
solitary Carthusian in the commodious 
chambers of the far-famed and sumptuous 
Certosa, would have compounded, I sus- 
pect, for all this poverty and degradation, 
to have enjoyed the privilege of being a 
husband and a father. 



142 RADAMONT. 

The poor monk gave us, with his thanks, 
two Httle cakes of very white bread, with a 
cross stamped on them. 

Two of the Itahan servants at Radamont, 
came and offered themselves as guides to 
the ruins of Antinopolis, or Antinoe, on the 
other side of the river. We went : — scat- 
tered over a large space of white sand, you 
find the remains of an amphitheatre, or 
rather you can trace its outhne ; you walk 
down long avenues of broken columns ; 
you see baths ; the brick facing of a canal ; 
scramble over heaps of pottery ; and are 
conducted to three diiferent spots, where 
six, four, and two columns, spoken of as 
having been of the most perfect beauty, 
whether for size, proportion, or material, 
were lately pulled down by the Turks, to 
burn into lime. 

Sometimes when you are in the humour 
for it, these sort of Italian adventurers are 
very entertaining ; they have all the jargon 
of ciceroni^ they take up a position for 
you, direct your gaze, affect the sympathy 
of delight when you express admiration, 



RAD A MONT. 143 

and have a shrug of hke kind when you 
regret the progress of decay, or are indig- 
nant at wanton destruction. They make 
excellent travelling servants ; can turn 
their hands to anything; are very quick at 
the language ; and appear to fall into the 
habits of the natives without much effort, 
or any violent departure from their own ; 
they look well in the Asiatic dress, and ex- 
ceedingly ill, and disreputable, as you often 
see them at Cairo, in the Frank habit : this, 
by the way, may assist in correcting a no- 
tion very prevalent, and naturally so with 
romantic minds, that the Asiatic Turks are 
finer animal men than Europeans. I do not 
subscribe to the idea that they form " the 
aristocracy of nature" from what I have 
seen of them ; and I suspect a regiment of 
British lifcrguards, with beards of a three 
years' growth, and in full Turkish costume, 
would present a sight more noble in its 
way than Cairo ever saw, or perhaps Con- 
stantinople itself. The most truly hand- 
some men in form and feature of the Turk- 
ish empire, are to be found, I believe, 



144 MEMPHIS. 

among some of the Greek subjects : that 
you occasionally meet individual counte- 
nances to be long remembered and stored 
up as pictures, is certainly true. 

It was late when we returned from our 
ramble, and giving them a present*, we 
got into our boat, and dropped down to 
Bedrashin. 

The Arabs who were conducting us to- 
wards the pyramids of Saccara? stopped 
our asses at a small hut by the way-side, 
and told us that here was a Frank whom 
we must visit. There came out from it a 
person of a countenance very foreign, with 
the deep lines and brown stain of a tra- 
velled and weather-beaten man. He ap- 
peared glad to see us, congratulated us on 
being the first to whom he could show 
a late-found treasure, and with ready 
politeness conducted us to it. Not twenty 

* One of these men had an Ibis mummy. We had 
seen it in the morning covered with asphaltum, and in 
a small curious- shaped case, with many hieroglyphics ; 
he had also showed us many small figures of bronze 
idols, very like those sold to this day in India : they were 
for sale. 



MEMPHIS. 145 

jards had we to go ; — a very fine colossal 
statue of a noble countenance, with a scroll 
represented in its closed hand, a tablet on 
its breast, and that striped clothing on the 
thighs, common on the statues and figures 
at Thebes, lay where it had been lately 
uncovered, and where it has lain for cen- 
turies, not three feet under the surface of 
the soil. This, he told us, he believed and 
hoped would enable him to discover the 
site of the temple of Vulcan, of which he 
thought it must have formed an ornament. 
He now led us to his maison rusfique, as 
he termed it ; one which he had caused to 
be erected close to his treasure, and which 
he had only arrived that morning from 
Ghizeh, to occupy. He had not even un- 
packed a single thing ; but he insisted on 
our waiting till we had drank coffee ; — a 
kind of thing the Arab servant would con- 
trive to give you if the meeting was under 
a rock, at a temporary halt ; and if you 
go away without taking it, you are con- 
sidered deficient in politeness. He now 
recommended us to ride first to Dashour, 

L 



146 MEMPHIS. 

then return bj Saccara to him; and that 
on the morrow he would be happy to 
show us the interior of the most interest- 
ing one at Saccara, and ride with us over 
the site of Memphis. 

This gentleman was no other than the 
enterprising and persevering Cavigha. 

Away we ambled, along fields, and past 
wells, and through date groves, till at last 
we came out on the edge of the desert, 
at the foot of that shapeless mass of sun- 
baked mud called the Brick Pyramid. On 
the sand by its side, lay its bricks ; here, 
single, there, two or three joined together ; 
they are large, thicker, and more square 
in form than our bricks, and the dry earth 
composing them, held together by straw, 
most plentifully mixed, and yet white and 
shining as it was served out by the task- 
master to those who laboured at making 
them. Of the two stone pyramids near 
this spot, one is very handsome, its casing 
smooth, and the squares of stone united 
with surprising exactness ; its form, towards 
the top, has an inchning bend, 'both at the 



MEMPHIS. 147 

ano-les and on the sides, which mves it a 
character quite different from the others. 
That by its side would be a fine thing in 
the eye of the traveller, if the two at Ghizeh 
were not so superior in size, that when 
seen, they almost efface this from your 
memory ; I ascended it with one of my 
companions, by an angle, which gave us 
just such a path as is presented to the 
assailant of a breached bastion, — sand, rub- 
bish, fallen stones to tread on, others erect, 
to be wound round or mounted with a 
longer stride ; even from the summit of 
this one, the men and asses standing at 
the foot, were reduced to a most dwariSsh 
size, and, gazed long upon, would make 
you, if you stood on the edge of a side-step, 
feel giddy. Strange structures ! — for whom 
raised, and by whom, and when? — we 
know not, and perhaps we do not feel the 
less pleasure in contemplating them, be- 
cause none can tell us. We rode along 
the desert to those of Saccara, verdure on 
our right, and on our left, sand, an ocean 
of it, wide, pathless, still, stretching far, 
L 2 



148 MEMPHIS. 

far away to where lies that savage coun- 
try, Leonum arida nutrix. 

Several of the pyramids of Saccara have 
lost their casing, and present naked sides of 
sand and rubbish. The principal one here 
is, in descriptive truth, not a pyramid ; but 
VAST, square, altar-like steps, six in num- 
ber, rise in graduated lessening propor- 
tions to a flat summit : Arab tradition calls 
it the Seat of Pharaoh, and states it to 
have been the spot whence the ancient 
kings of Egypt promulgated their laws to 
their assembled subjects. I leave antiqua- 
rians to battle with tradition, and I triumph 
as much as any one in the successful efforts 
of their learning, when they account for, 
and expose its absurdities, beat down the 
strong holds of any important error, or 
establish any important truth : but Tradi- 
tion is a very poetical, a very pleasing per- 
sonage ; we like to meet him on our travels, 
at least I do, and I always ask him a ques- 
tion. You will find him grey and blind, 
sitting among all old ruins, and '^ Death 
standing dim behind !" 



MEMPHIS. 149 

We passed on to some tombs and mum- 
my pits ; found at the mouths of some, frag- 
ments of broken-down walls, with figures 
and hieroglyphics ; one, I remember, with 
a priest admirably painted on it. We also 
saw two statues of females seated, the size 
of nature, which had been lately dug out, 
and two more afterwards in the village 
near ; one of the last was rather on a larger 
scale ; they were of a soft white stone, the 
eyes painted, also the hair, and the orna- 
ments on their robes and persons. Even 
with this paint, which I do not like on a 
statue, and can ill understand how, in the 
bright day of Pericles, Athens could have 
tolerated ; even, I say, with this drawback, 
they had a sweetness and beauty of expres- 
sion we all admired. 

Returning, we again called on Caviglia. 
Magic had been at work in his little hut : 
plans and drawings were hung all round, 
concealing and ornamenting its walls ; his 
books established on shelves and tables ; 
in fact, it looked that sort of home, in 
which the soldier and the traveller find 



1 50 MEMPHIS. 

some comfort in their sojournings. Among 
his books, I observed Denon, a Florence 
edition, the Zendavesta, and the works of 
Pascal. ^t\ e turned over the plates of De- 
non ; and he showed us a small hieroglyphic 
vocabulary, in manuscript, for the interpre- 
tations in which Dr. Young and Mr. Cham- 
pollion were the authorities. 

He declined returning with us that even- 
ing to our boat, but said he would himself 
accompany us to Saccara on the morrow, 
which he did. His wish was to show the 
interior of that pyramid * opened by the 
French, he having founded some opinion 
on the examination of it, which leads him 
to suppose, that none of the pyramids were 
sepulchres — I leave him to amuse himself 
with the difficulty. He is a kind man, with 
much enthusiasm about Egyptian antiqui- 
ties, having exhibited enterprise and per- 
severance, and fearlessly expended all he 



* The same which the Arabs call the Seat of Pha- 
raoh ; and here, perhaps, tradition does not err ; but the 
other pyramids are surely sepulchral. 



MEMPHIS. 151 

could : he is unpretending too, considering 
his visit to Paris, and the nonsense he heard 
talked there about Moses and Orpheus, and 
which, at times, will peep from under his 
modest avowals, that he is only a sailor, 
with a strong turn this way, which has niade 
him both labour and read on antiquities. 

We were all much disappointed, and he 
was exceedingly provoked, to find that the 
Arab fellahs had blocked up the entrance, 
and that so effectually, and with such huge 
stones, that it would have taken many men, 
and a day's labour to have removed them. 
We returned along a raised bank, just di- 
viding the desert from a low, green, culti- 
vated flat, the ancient bed of the lake 
Acherusia : we went on, and through a few 
clumps of dates, and down to another long 
open flat, where, to the eye of the antiqua- 
rian, a few stones scattered here and there 
in the corn, give the site and traces of a 
street of the ancient city of Memphis. 

*' Nor is Osiris seen 

In Memphian grove t)r green, 

Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud." 
L 4 



159, MEMPHIS. 

In other parts, you see remains of a wall of 
unburnt brick; and again, in one spot, 
brick-work of a later date ; a part of a bath ; 
and also the facing of a canal. These last 
are of the city in its latter days : the stones, 
with their hieroglyphics, as old as the time 
of its first founder ; the sumptuous temple 
of the great Vulcan of the Egyptians, so re- 
nowned once, is the more particular object 
of Mr. Caviglia's search ; and here, as his 
fancy suggests, and his means admit of his 
buying and rooting up a tree, or getting 
them not to sow on a few square yards of 
fertile land, he digs and excavates — finds 
nothing ! hopes, fears, and digs again, and 
finds a broken shaft, a statue, or a stone — 
and sleeps the sounder, and wakes the hap- 
pier for it ! He appears to understand how 
to conciliate the common Arab very well : 
though not settled, he was already erecting 
near his hut, where he had dug a well, a lit- 
tle kind of wig-wam of the date leaf, about 
six feet or more in height, which would 
give just as much shade as a bit of park 
paling or hurdle might ; little enough, but 



THE PYRAMIDS. 153 

sufficient quite to invite all the Arabs as 
they passed by, to stop, deposit their staff 
or load, ask for water, and take a sleep, 
leaving their blessing with the good man 
as they departed. 

He showed, and with no little pride, a 
number of the Quarterly Review, which 
spoke of his labours with high praise and 
deserved encouragement. I borrowed the 
volume, as I saw it contained much about 
the pyramids ; and I certainly was indebted 
to some ingenious and astounding calcu- 
lations concerning the quantity of stone 
employed in the erection of that, known by 
the title of Cheops, for very increased plea- 
sure in surveying it. Mr. C. dined with us 
in the evening, and the following morning 
we dropped down to Ghizeh. 

From the moment that you leave Ghi- 
zeh, until you reach the pyramids, they 
seem continually near to you ; you would 
think that you had but a narrow field to cross 
to reach their base ; you have four miles to 
ride : they certainly have an awful look — 
everlasting, as it were, compared to any 



154 THE PYRAMIDS. 

other structure which you have either seen 
or know to exist, or can imagine. But this 
does not arise, perhaps, so much from their 
apparent size, as from your knowledge of 
what that really is, and also from the sub- 
lime unity of design, solidity of construc- 
tion, and the severe simplicity of their once 
sacred form. 

He who has stood on the summit of the 
most ancient, and yet the most mighty 
monument of his power and pride ever 
raised by man, and has looked out and 
round to the far horizon, where Lybia and 
Arabia lie silent, and hath seen, at his feet, 
the land of Egypt dividing their dark soli- 
tudes with a narrow vale, beautiful and 
green, the mere enamelled setting of one 
solitary shining river, must receive impres- 
sions which he can never convey, for he 
cannot define them to himself 

Let us come down, let us leave this spot. 
Some one of our poets has placed on this 
mighty pedestal that skeleton form with 
scithe and hour-glass. Time sits in triumph 
on this empty tomb, — a fitting throne ! 



THE PYRAMIDS. 155 

We passed into its dark chambers, long, 
gloomy passages ; above, around, all vast 
masses of stone ; Arabs crowding on us and 
noisy, and the torches blazing on and throw- 
ing a gloss on their bronzed skins : we 
rested awhile near the broken empty sarco- 
phagus, and then clambered up a rude lad- 
der, and crawled through a low passage to 
another chamber ; afterwards we went down 
the well and out through another passage, 
which leads up, and joins the principal 
one near the entrance. The total descent, 
from the mouth of the well, is 155 feet; 
two of the shafts are perpendicular ; the 
third having, however, a very rapid inclina- 
tion. With an Arab lighting you, and 
muttering something to drive the demons 
from him, you let yourself down this well, 
pressing your back against the side, stretch- 
ing out your hands to steady yourself, and 
feeling with your dangling foot for the nar-- 
row, small, worn niches that scarce give a 
resting place to the ball of your toe ; at 
length you reach the bottom, and, after 
looking about you, and pausing awhile, in 



156 THE PYRAMIDS. 

the gloomy depth, you make your way up 
a very long passage, catch the light of day, 
and go gladly forth — dusty, dirty ; faces 
covered with perspiration from the heat, 
and blackened by the smoke of torches, we 
looked as I have seen men look in battle. 
We rested ourselves for half an hour, and 
then proceeded to the pyramid opened by 
Belzoni. The passage into this has the 
finest polish on the masses of granite I 
think it capable of receiving ; the fine 
chamber cut in the living rock surprised us, 
as it does all visitors ; and how these an- 
cient men contrived to cut so well in the 
hardest stone, when we cannot now make 
instruments fine enough to accomplish the 
same thing, at least I know those sent from 
England failed, remains, for the present, a 
wonder, and we look back upon them as 
cunning in their craft. 

It is impossible to visit these pyramids * 



* The great, pyramid is ascended without further in- 
convenience than is caused by the great height of many 
of the steps There is no sort of danger; but he who 



THE PYRAMIDS. 157 

without reflecting on the spirit and the skill 
of those intrepid pioneers of antiquarian- 
ism, Caviglia and Belzoni : the latter I never 
saw, the former I shall not soon forget; his 
pursuits have unsettled many of those no- 
tions which he probably received in child- 
hood, and have given him, I suspect, no 
consoling equivalent. I remembered, how- 
ever, that there lay in his cottage one of the 
finest uninspired volumes ever penned, 
" The Thoughts of- Pascal," and I could 
not help wishing that, while looking for the 
temple of Vulcan, he might find a nobler 
prize. 

Near the great pyramid there are some 
low tombs, two of which have their walls 
covered with paintings: — there is the birth 



knows himself likely to turn giddy, should direct his 
looks either far out or else to the stones immediately 
below and near him, never to the bottom of the pyramid. 
I mean during the ascent, or while coming down. On 
the summit he need not take such caution. The Arabs 
crowd round and pester you, yet here and there, where 
the steps are high, you avail yourself, not unwillingly, of 
a lifting hand to save time and fatigue. 



158 THE PYRAMIDS. 

and story of Apis, the cow calving ; there 
are sacrifices, feasting, dancing ; there is an 
antelope in a small wood ; and there is a 
figure which (though a mere trifle) called 
and fixed my attention, a man carrying two 
square boxes across the shoulder on a broad 
flat bending piece of wood ; exactly similar 
this is to the manner in which burdens are 
borne in India, by what we there call bangy- 
coolies. It suggests to me what I had for- 
gotten before to remark — the peculiar way 
in which you see, in paintings at Thebes, 
the end of the girdle or loin-cloth gathered, 
plaited, as it were, and hanging down be- 
fore their middles, is exactly Indian ; nor, 
to my eye, is either the complexion or fea- 
ture, either in the paintings or statues, very 
different from some tribes of Brahmin ; but 
I am fanciful, though not unobservant, and 
must leave others to dismiss this with a 
smile, or think it over as an amusement in 
some morning's walk. 

We returned from our day's ride in silent 
delight. They are the tombs of Cheops 
and Cephrenes, says the Grecian ; they are 



THE PYRAMIDS. 159 

the tombs of Seth and Enoch, says the wild 
and imaginative Arabian ; an English tra- 
veller with a mind warmed, perhaps, and 
misled by his heart, tells you that the large 
pyramid may have contained the ashes of 
the patriarch Joseph ; and, at least, he dis- 
plays ingenuity in showing the grounds on 
which he builds his supposition. It is all 
this which constitutes the very charm of a 
visit to these ancient monuments. You smile, 
and your smile is followed and reproved by 
a sigh. One thing you know — that the 
chief, and the philosopher, and the poet of 
the times of old, men, " who mark fields as 
they pass, with their own mighty names," 
have certainly been here; that Alexander 
has spurred his war>horse to its base ; and 
Pythagoras, with naked foot, has probably 
stood upon its summit. 

The sphinx disappointed us ; it does ge- 
nerally, I should think : drawings and prints 
deceive wonderfully ; it has neither the size, 
the majesty, or the sweetness with which it 
is usually represented. 



160 BULAC. 

In tKe night we dropped down to Bulac, 
and, when we looked out, in the morning, 
we found ourselves moored close in front 
of the palace of Ismail Pasha * ; it has an 
appearance princely, and is a strange mix- 
ture of Italian, Greek, and Asiatic taste, 
having a wide front of handsome windows 
and balconies, Greek painting on its walls, 
much gilding on its iron-work, and a wing 
for the harem quite eastern. Cairo the 
Grand by no means corresponds with this 
early promise of show and magnificence ; 
but Cairo is abundantly interesting, and, 
though I confess myself the possessor of a 
sanguine disposition, it did not disappoint 
my expectations. As I lay looking from 
the cabin window at this palace a voice said 
(with the deliberate utterance and accent of 
a Scotchman), — " If you are the gentlemen 
from Upper Egypt, the consul has sent me 



* He had been murdered, or rather put to death, by 
the peasants of Nubia. He was among them as a con- 
queror, and was oppressive. 



THE PYRAMIDS. 161 

to conduct you and your baggage to Cairo." 
I looked up and saw a fresh-looking man 
with the Highland countenance, sandy 
mustachios, the red Mamaluke trowsers, 
and the fine white cloak of Africa ; the 
tone, the look, all that seemed unaltered, 
and unalterable about this man, struck and 
prepossessed me, at once, and as he was at- 
tached to us by Mr. Salt, during our stay, 
and accompanied us in our daily rides, I 
thus introduce him. In fact, it was coming 
in contact with Europe, although the unfor- 
tunate being who formed the fancied link 
is himself an object of (I can write no other 
word than) pity. 

Camels and asses were in readiness, and 
we mounted and set forward. I must tell 
the reader that the ass of Cairo, even the 
hired ass, is a lineal descendant of the 
" sprightly," in the Arabian Nights ; a fine- 
sized animal, with a party-coloured pack- 
saddle, having a high pommel covered with 
red leather, on which you may lounge, lean 
your hand, or over which you let the bridle 
pass ; they are provided with stirrups and 

M 



162 CAIRO. 

bridle, half European ; away he goes trot- 
ting or cantering, the ragged driver running 
after him and crjing, " Taieeb, Signor, 
taieeb, I ashy lee breed i" whether you do or 
no, he carries you, winding his way between 
loaded camels, workmen's stalls, porters, 
beggars, crowds mounted, and crowds on 
foot, in a manner that at first quite puzzles 
you. It is necessary to have your eyes 
open and your wits ready, or you will be 
knocked off by the mountain-load of some 
camel, or, what might be worse, you would 
run against a surly Albanian, ■ 

After passing, however, three or four 
narrow lanes, you get out of Old Cairo, 
and ride along a fine, and rather a wide bit 
of road to the new city. Here you may 
look before and around you, and ask ques- 
tions. Mounted on sleek, beautiful, well- 
groomed asses, you meet numbers of res- 
pectable-looking figures, in their ample and 
distinguishing robes; the Coptic and Ar- 
menian merchants, with dark robes and 
dark turbans; the Mohammedans in brighter 
colours, and turbans white, or of shawls. 



CAIRO. 163 

You see mingled with these (we did that 
very morning) Greek and Latin monks in 
their blue and black garments, with beards 
and turbans. 

There is green corn on each side of you ; 
the city does look, as you approach, like a 
capital. 

You enter, and cross the Birket Esbe- 
quieh ; it is an open, irregular square ; the 
houses on one side lofty, latticed, mean, and 
out of repair, but novel and picturesque. 
To the right are the palaces of Ali Pasha, 
Ahmed Pasha, and other grandees ; white 
buildings, large, with, before one, a small 
garden, before the others bare walls, but 
nothing either being or looking palace-like. 
They front to the street beyond ; but are 
not much better in appearance on that 
side. 

You pass out of this square, and again 
find yourself " in Cairo's crowded streets." 
Mr. Salt, whom we first visited, had taken 
us apartments in a hotel in the Frank quar- 
ter. Thither we went. The Franks, I am 
sorry to say, are by far the most disreput- 
M 2 



164 CAIRO. 

able-looking class in Cairo. No pencil, but 
such a one as the late Mr. Scott's, could at 
all convey to the reader's mind the por- 
traits of these people. The lively fidelity 
of one late traveller might have done some- 
thing for it, and I am surprised that he 
omitted the mention of them. I can only 
beg you to image to yourself a set of needy, 
indolent, adventurous, dissipated, sharp- 
vi^sfged men, whose offences, or fortunes, 
or hopes have driven them from Trieste or 
Venice, Genoa or Marseilles ; and to clothe 
them from the Monmouth Streets of those 
places, with such coats, hats, and caps, as 
they alone can furnish ; and you have be- 
fore you the many of that Frank popula- 
tion * at Cairo, which represents the Euro- 
pean and the Christian to the eye of the 
haughty Mussulman. Where is the mer- 
chant of Venice in his scarlet cloak ? where 
the Genoese in his rich and glossy velvets ? 



* On a Sunday all, however, are to be seen in some- 
thing looking new. How they live is a matter of won- 
der, as many are without employ. 



CAIRO. 165 

That Cairo, the Cah'o of the caliphs, is no 
more ; but you shalLyet see the streets 
along which they rode, the mosques in 
which they prayed, and the bazaars where 
the Jewish and Arabian merchants brought 
and displayed the costly goods of India, to 
the purchasers from Europe. 

We were very comfortable at /the hotel ; 
the master was a reserved, respectable, and 
respectful man, a Monsieur Meunier. He 
had a table d'hote : we dined there the first 
evening, as an experiment or amusement, 
but his anxiety about our doing so, and the 
people we met, together with his looks at, 
and manner to them, showed us it would 
not do. We were very glad, however, to 
have seen it. At the table there were two 
who looked unhappy, disappointed men ; 
and in the garden I used often to pass a 
French officer in a worn-out uniform, with- 
out epaulette, whose look (though he 
bowed) spoke the unsubdued spirit of a sol- 
dier, perhaps exiled from France, and, in 
desperate fortunes, seeking a service, and 
mingling among men he despisedi 

M S 



166 CAIRO. 

Osmyn, the Scotch Mamalukoj came to 
attend us in the morning. Our first ride 
was to Shubrah, the country palace of the 
pasha ; as we crossed the Esbequieh, a new 
building was pointed out as the site of a 
house which Bonaparte had once inhabited, 
also that once occupied by the French In- 
stitute. We cantered or ambled pleasantly 
along a fine road, between avenues of Syrian 
and Egyptian mulberry-trees; we met large 
droves of asses, laden with forage, fine fresh 
grass, and green barley. The country harem 
happened to be cleaning, repairing, and 
empty, so that we saw all the apartments. 
There is a large central one for the women; 
small apartments at the angles for the more 
distinguished ; one, rather handsome, for 
the pasha's wife. There are summer 
apartments below ; one with a fountain, a 
small bath of marble, and a large Eastern 
kitchen for the cooks and slaves : there is, 
also, above, a private apartment of the 
pasha's, and one appropriated to youthful 
slaves, whom the crimes and customs of the 
East condemn to effeminacy and degradation. 



CAIRO. 167 

Some of these apartments have the walls 
decorated with Greek paintings of a bright, 
tawdry colouring, representing palaces, 
kiosks, fountains, gardens, and, alas ! for 
the poor inmates, scenes of open country 
or natural landscape ; they are ill executed, 
but, with all the minuteness and laborious 
attention of Eastern artists. The gardens 
are pretty ; the larger one has less stiff for- 
mality than I had expected ; the smaller 
one has arbours, and trellis-covered paths, 
which are formed of the small pebbles of 
Rhodes. There were orange-trees, with 
their golden fruit, in the larger; in the 
smaller, many beautiful plants and creepers, 
also reservoirs of water, and little ducts of 
stone, guiding the sparkling treasure. 

The gardeners had an air and counte- 
nances that pleased ; their features fine, 
their occupation pleasant: they wei^e Greeks 
from the gardens of Scio. Poor fellows ! the 
men of whom they learned to use the 
pruning-knife, and tie up the drooper, and 
the girls with whom they danced, where are 
M 4 



168 . CAIRO. 

they? Were the question asked in that 
sad isle, who would answer ? 

Greek artists, too, with an Italian direct- 
ing them, are building a sort of marble pa- 
vilion, or a water palace. It promises to be 
handsome ; a large square reservoir, a foun- 
tain, which will pour its waters from the 
miouths of crocodiles, (the crocodiles are 
vile, stiff, and ill suited to the purpose,) 
verandas all round, marble pillars, urns, 
lions, and the ceiling of the pavilion and 
walks painting, in fresco, by Greeks. The 
whole is paving with fine squares of white 
marble, which are ready prepared in Sicily 
and Italy for laying down, and then sent 
hither, as are all the other ornaments of 
marble. 

- The last thing we went to visit was a 
cameleopard, sent from Nubia by the 
pasha's son ; a most extraordinary, beauti- 
ful, and gentle creature. Nature has given 
it the eye and the closed nostril of the 
camel ; a neck as long, but the proportion 
and grace of it peculiarly its own ; a some- 



CAIRO. 169 

thing in its body, especially in the rounded 
compact hind- quarter, of the horse; a clo- 
ven hoof; has adorned it with the spot- 
tings of the leopard, but gifted it with 
the tameness of the fawn. Not often is it 
caught ; and then generally becomes a 
state-prisoner ; it has been led up in Roman 
triumphs, and, since that day, has had its 
very existence disputed.* 

A gentleman, who had visited Shubrah 
a few weeks before us, was prevented from 
sketching it by the keepers, on account of 
their dread of the '' evil eye," and they 
seemed very impatient at our long visit. 
From a like apprehension they prevented 
us from going round the pasha's stud ; 
about twenty of his horses, however, we 
saw, by no means fine animals. We now 
returned home. Every afternoon during my 
stay I walked out alone, through all the 



* It stood ten feet high to the crown of the head, 
between six and seven feet to the top of the shoulder. 
I see by the paper he has been shipwrecked in his pas- 
sage to Constantinople very lately, but saved. 



170 CAIRO. 

streets and bazaars, and into the lanes, 
courts, and suburbs of Cairo, but of that 
presently. The next day we visited Mo- 
hammed Ali ; Mr. Salt was present. We 
rode to the palace he occupied (one of 
Ahmed Pasha's) ; found a court-yard filled 
with a number of men, soldiers, and other 
attendants ; a few horses ; but nothing 
having an air of order or show ; and no 
persons, either from dress or manner, look- 
ing or assuming consequence. We were 
introduced into a large apartment ; the 
pasha was at one end, on the divan ; Mr. 
Salt on his right; a shrewd-looking Italian 
interpreter standing up, directly opposite 
to the pasha, in the Frank habit, with his 
hat in his hand. We were received cour- 
teously, the common questions addressed 
to us, and then coffee was brought. We 
sat there a very long time ; not one attend- 
ant of any kind was in the room, and only 
the khawajee and assistants in the moments 
of their service. Almost the whole time 
the pasha was carrying on an animated, 
laughing conversation with Mr. Salt. The 



CAIRO. 171 

interpreter appeared to me fearlessly fami- 
liar, voluble, and to aim at and succeed in 
making the pasha laugh. Turkish and 
Italian were the languages, and without at 
the time understanding more of the Italian 
than its similarity to the Spanish admitted, 
the general tenor of the discourse was 
easily gathered, and consisted of allusions 
to local events, and persons of whom we 
knew nothing : the graver part of it was 
concerning the emir of the Druses, who 
was then at Cairo, and had lately received 
pardon, (that is, life,) and permission to 
return to his government at Mount Le- 
banon. 

The pasha, every now and then, ad- 
dressed some questions to us ; two or three 
about the Persians, and their adoption of 
our discipline ; but all inconsequent. I 
sat on the divan with my eyes fixed upon 
him ; I wanted to examine the countenance 
of a man^ who had realised in our day one 
of those scenes in history, which, when we 
have perused it, always compels us to lay 
down the book, and recover ourselves* 



172 CAIRO. 

There he sat — a quick eye, features com- 
mon, nose bad, a grizzled beard, looking 
much more than fifty, the worn complexion 
of that period of life, and there seemed to be 
creeping upon him that aspect which belongs 
to, and betrays the " grey decrepitude of 
lust." Mohammed Ali Pasha is a Turk, a 
very Turk : he is surrounded, flattered, and 
cajoled by a set of foreign adventurers, 
who put notions into his head, and words 
into his mouth, which pass for, and, in 
truth, become his own : the race between 
him and them is who shall get the most out 
of the other, and what between force and 
fraud, I believe the pasha has the best of it. 
His idea of political economy is pretty 
much like that of the countryman, who 
killed the goose, and was astonished not to 
find more eggs of gold. 

So far from improving, as far as we could 
hear and see, he is ruining and impoverish- 
ing his country. He has got rid of his 
Turks and Albanians, and flatters himself 
his new levy is a master-stroke of policy. 
He does not 'pay^ and will never attach 



CAIRO. 173 

them ; and i£ they do not (which I think 
probable) desert with their arms, and dis- 
turb his conquests and possessions above 
the cataracts, they will die away as a body, 
and fall to pieces in a very short period of 
time. 

The protection which he affords to the 
European traveller is to be acknowledged, 
but not at the expense of truth. He knows 
if his country was not safe, the European 
would not come there : he encourages the 
intercourse, because he avows his wish to 
receive and employ Franks, and it is neces- 
sary, therefore, to let them see and know 
that protection is afforded to them, and to 
accustom his subjects to their presence. 
As far as pasha can be independent of the 
Porte, he is, and he knows it is only by 
cultivating his European relations that he 
can effectually continue so to the end. 
They might now send him the bowstring 
in vain ; .they tell you that he is not 
sanguinary ; men grow tired of shedding 
blood, as well as of other pleasures ; but if 
the cutting off a head would drop gold into 



174 CAIRO. 

his coffers, he would not be slow to give 
the signal. His laugh has nothing in it of 
nature; how can it have? I can hear it 
now, — a hard sharp laugh, such as that with 
which strong heartless men would divide 
booty torn from the feeble. I leave him 
to his admirers. At one thing I heartily 
rejoice ; it is said that our consul-general 
has great influence with him, and it is 
known that that is always exerted freely 
and amiably for Franks of all nations 
in distress or difficulty, and often for 
natives also. 

We went to the castle and visited the 
arsenal ; a clear-eyed, intelligent, manly- 
spoken Englishman was in temporary charge 
of it, and hoped to be confirmed in the 
situation. He was a good specimen of 
what our countrymen are in such charges. 
Not a great deal of work is done here ; 
there are plenty of good workmen, Franks, 
and some English, who were disappointed 
with their employer, and about to return : 
they only cast four pounders. It was in a 
room here, over a machine for boring can- 



cAiuo. 175 

non, that some Frenchman formerly in 
charge had painted in large characters — 
" Vive Mahomed Ali, Protecteur des Arts /" 
The Englishman said that when the pasha 
visited the arsenal he certainly asked 
questions that surprised him, in a Turk. 
A man in power, of common intelligence, 
soon learns, by some means or another, to 
ask a few questions when he visits an 
establishment His merit, if any, is, in 
defiance of prejudices, receiving men with 
heads to contrive and hands to execute 
what himself, his three-tailed sons, and his 
people cannot. 

The castle of Cairo is a fine thing. The 
pillars in the hall of Joseph and the well of 
that caliph, are memorials of a prouder 
period; and, from surveying them, it is com- 
mon to go and take your stand on the outer 
wall of the castle, and look out upon the 
magnificent scene it commands ; a noble one 
it is. Cairo still looks itself; the dark mass 
of the mosque of Hassan, the many light and 
lofty minarets which rise above the crowded 
buildings, the gardens, the trees, the green 



176 CAIRO. 

earth, and the broad river beyond, proclaim 
aloud (that is speaking to the eye), power, 
beauty, wealth, abundance ; and you might 
again go down and expect to see caparisoned 
horses and fair structures, stuffs of gold and 
silver, and the measure of corn heaped up 
and flowing over into the poor man's 
bosom. This you do not see ; still, how- 
ever, you find the narrow streets crowded 
and busy, a stream of turbaned men, long 
files of camels, the quick ambling asses of 
scribes and merchants, here and there a 
solitary horseman, or a small group per- 
haps, a wealthy man on a mule, a poor 
man with the smallest-sized overloaded 
ass, a party of armed Albanians, a file of 
women going to the baths, enveloped in 
their larcre black mantles and closely veiled, 
slaves before clearing their path with a cry 
and a blow, and they raised very loftily, 
upon saddles high, high above their animals, 
with one servant leading and one at each 
stirrup — nor shape, nor face, nor foot dis- 
cernible ; nothing whereby eager youth 
might guess if they too were young enough 



CAIRO. 177 

for love, save the dark flashing of the eye, 
which, if it will, can smile without the aid 
of parted lips or dimpling cheek. 

I must stop for a minute, and confess 
that I saw no eye of this description, but 
such there must be in Cairo, or such there 
was, as the young merchant, who lost his 
right hand, found to his cost ; but 1 am 
wrong, I believe the lady came on a mule 
to the bezestein, on a shopping excursion, 
and unveiled. 

Well it was very pleasant, in my school boy 
days, to put aside the imposed TvpOn^rooLai 
and light the taper at my scob*, and read 
those same Arabian tales ; and it was very 
pleasant, though I did but imperfectly recol- 
lect them, to think about them in the streets 
of Grand Cairo, where the author of those 
tales seems always fond of carrying his 
heroes. The loads of wood on the camels, 
which really in these lanes it is not easy to 
avoid, bring the scar of Amine's cheek, and 



* A conveniency. for holding books at Wiachester 
College, so called. 

N 



178 



CAIRO, 



her prompt and natural account of it to your 
idle mind, and assure you that the writer* 
once moved in these very streets. 

We stopped before the gate of a large 
building, and, turning, entered a court of 
no great size, with a range of apartments 
all round ; open doors showed that they 
were dark and wretched; at them, or before 
them, stood or sat small groups of female 
slaves ; also from within these chambers, 
you might catch the moving eyes and white 
teeth of those who shunned the light. 
There was a gallery above with other rooms, 
and slave girls leaning on the rail — laugh- 
ter, all laughter — their long hair in nu- 
merous falling curls, white with fat ; their 
faces, arms, and bosoms shining with grease. 
Exposure in the market is the moment of 
their joy. Their cots, their country, the 
breast that gave them suck, the hand that 
led their tottering steps not forgotten, but 
resigned, given up, as things gone for ever. 



* Said to be a Greek — indeed there is much in 
them that could hardly have been written by a Mussul- 
man born. 



CAIRO. 179 

left in another world. The toils and terrors 
of the wide desert, the hard and scanty fare, 
the swollen foot, the whip, the scalding 
tear, the curse 5 all, all are behind : hope 
meets them here and paints some master 
kind ; some mistress gentle ; some babe or 
child to win the heart of; — as bond-women 
they may bear a son, and live and die the 
contented inmates of some quiet harem^ 
You see they laugh, and some wear even a 
wanton look — they are quite happy. No, 
— look at that scowling, dark-browed Moor; 
he is their. owner; it is to please, or to 
escape from him, they smile : you think 
otherwise of that one ; well, perhaps it is 
nature prompts her; but the many, and 
those wild, shy groups within — could we 
sit, and hear, and understand the simple 
history of every smiler there, we should 
go home and shudder, 

" Then what is man ? arid what man, seeing this, 
And having human feelings, does not blush 
And hang his head, to think himself a man ?" 

Yes ! Arabian fiction may have charmed, 
and cheated our unthinking youth, and we 

N 2 



180 CAIRO. 

may still delight to look upon forms and 
features, robes and arms, the manners and 
the customs of other days ; but we gladden to 
see decay at work — the blackened mosque, 
the dulled crescent, the silent khan, the 
roofless dwelling, these tell us that 

" What remains 

Of this tempestuous state of human things. 
Is merely as the working of a sea 
Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest." 

We visited an hospital, founded five hun- 
dred years ago ; four large vaulted recesses, 
spacious and airy are the chambers, they 
surround an open court with a fountain. 
We walked round the cots of the patients. 
It appeared to me that they were but fed 
and sheltered ; there are native physicians, 
but I believe the wisest of them attempt 
little in the way of treatment. W^e saw a 
Moggrebyn, lying in a sad state, his limbs 
swollen, his eye hopeless ; he was a na- 
tive of Fez. You make a present in bread 
here (not money), a strange custom. We 
were shown a smaller court, with a foun- 



CAIRO. 181 

tain in it, and a few small cells around 
with iron-grated fronts. I have seen beasts 
of the forest in the like, they were some of 
them tenanted, and by human beings — men 
stricken of God ; a sad, a fearful sight.* 

Every morning during our stay, save 
one, when the hot wind called the hamseen 
blew fiery as from a furnace mouth, we 
visited something : each afternoon I wan- 
dered through the city to catch and carry 
away its aspect. We generally dined as 
evening closed ; and not an evening but 
we became silent, and listened as a muez- 
zin, who had one of those deep fine-toned 
voices you never forget, chaun ted out from 
a lofty minar, not very distant, the solemn 
call to prayer. 

We rode one morning to the tombs of 
the Khalifs ; they are in a ruinous condition, 
but must still be very striking objects to 
the eye of a traveller visiting them from 



* I see not that the Turk who professes to regard 
these suiFerers as holy, is tender in his treatment of 
them. • ;b'f 

n3 



182 CAIRO. 

Europe. He who has looked upon the 
remains of Moorish magnificence in Hin- 
dostan, those vast and costly edifices raised 
by the Mogul emperors on the plains of 
Agra, is surprised at the comparative in- 
feriority of these, and indeed all the works 
of the caliphs. 

A little beyond the " Victory Gate," 
Osmyn pointed to where under some small 
tomb, which we could not distinguish 
among the closely crowded graves, lie the re- 
mains of poor Burckhardt. " Nay, you must 
not go up," said Osmyn ; " and do not let 
the people see you looking that way too 
intently." It is just on the edge of that 
immense desert he was preparing to tra- 
verse. Hopes broken, " he fell pale in a 
land unknown." Osmyn was the man 
whom Burckhardt found in slavery at Djidda, 
and by the ready assistance of Mr. Salt, 
raised from his abject condition, and placed 
in comparative comfort at Cairo, where he 
is now, attached to, and protected by the 
consul-general. He was with Burckhardt 
when he died, and kindly remembered in 



CAIRO. 183 

his will. He less happy is a Turk by rite, 
and as in the case of poor Ibrahim, the 
Moslems will take his body, and lay it 
among their own ; but I believe, Scotland, 
his heart is in your hills, and that quiet 
kirk he never more shall see. He cannot, 
could not again face you ; wounded and a 
beaten slave, they performed the rite by 
force. I shall long remember the evening 
when in the garden of our dwelling (gloomy 
and dark it was,) he told his tale. If there 
be any who in his secure and carpeted 
chamber shall entertain hard thoughts of 
this man as a renegade, who thinks that 
he should go and ask for the martyrdom of 
impalement, I counsel him to offer thanks, 
and drop the stone ; reflecting with deep 
self-abasement on the care and love which 
have saved him from like trials, and a like 
melancholy fate. 

We visited the Coptic convent ; saw 
their cymbals, and the supporting crutches 
on which they lean in service. We ob- 
served ostrich eggs suspended from the 
roof of their chapel, and descended below, 
N 4 



184 CAIRO. 

to where an altar and a font mark the spot 
which some monkish invention gives out 
as having once been a place of concealment 
for the Virgin mother and her holy babe. 

We visited also the Greek convent, and 
drank coffee with the priests. The Greek 
gives burial-ground to the Protestant. 
Some English lie in the Convent garden ; 
we, in return, look with cold indifference 
on his trampled cross. We went into a 
very large forsaken mosque on our way 
home ; once a year there is still some fes- 
tival held there ; it has a most spacious 
square court, and porticoes adorned with 
and supported by handsome columns. We 
passed a Turkish encampment, infantry 
destined for Candia. 

We had the pleasure of dining with Mr. 
Salt, and of seeing his little collection of 
Egyptian relics. He has many fine bronze 
figures of their idols. Of the objects 
which most pleased me were, a sacred vessel 
of yellow metal, a composition fine as Corin- 
thian brass, giving a clear musical sound, 
which is-long, very long in dying away, and 



CAIRO. 185 

is listened to with attention, till the last faint 
exquisite note, which does not seem to finish, 
blends with such sounds, as when the world 
is up and awake, belong even to silence. 

There was another vessel like the lotos 
leaf (similar we have in India) ; a sacrificial 
knife and axe ; ornament of fine gilding, 
and of coloured glass ; scarabaei ; papyri, 
fine specimens ; a Greek one with part of 
the Iliad ; an ink-stand, colour-box, combs, 
crisping pins, pencils for the eyes, mirrors 
of brass, sandals, shoes, some of infant 
size, basket-work, a chair, a harp unstrung^ 
a timbrel, a hand-ball^ bow and arrows, 
a pioche, or hand plough. 

In my solitary wanderings in the city, 
I visited the Convento della Propaganda, 
and della Terra Santa also; walked all 
through the Jewish quarter, and was shown 
their largest synagogue, (they have seven,) 
a building somewhat mosque-like, of stone, 
with handsome pillars, smaller ; though 
they had, in the ark or recess, seven copies 
of the law, written and on rollers. They 
also showed me an old Bible ihuminated, 



186 CAIRO, 

and written in beautiful characters ; toge- 
ther with other books and copies of the 
Talmud. They asked me to put my shoes 
from off my feet, when I went into this 
synagogue ; I did so ; they showed me a 
school of little boys at their Hebrew les- 
sons. Their quarter is dark, dirty, and you 
see many meanly clad figures *, yet do they 
seem to be far more at ease here than I 
had seen them in Arabia ; they purchase 
dearly their protection : I was told they 
occupied about a hundred and twenty 
houses in separate famihes. A family is 
always very large, that is, it consists of all 
connected with each other, also servants 
and travelling strangers. 



* I met some of their women : they wore a white 
mantle on the head ; and two that I saw had zones of 
metal, thin silver; one, an old woman, from the sloven- 
liness and carelessness of age, wore the zone low and loose 
so that it caused the garments about her bosom to fall 
awkwardly ; and exposed her aged breasts. I mention it, 
because, although familiar with the sight of the zone in 
the East, I had never seen it so worn : it for the first 
time gave me the exact meaning of such poetical images 
as belong to the loosened zone. 



CAIRO. 187 

I can never pass the Jew without a feel- 
ing of awe and sorrow. 

Through the other quarters of the town 
I would walk slowly, now pausing to ask a 
question, or to look at what was strange ; a 
large, and not a very clean-looking towel 
hanging before the door of the Hummaam, 
denotes that women are in the bath ; the 
Mambrino helmet is here, as in Spain, 
whither the Moors carried, or left it, the 
sign of a shop where heads are shaved in 
an orthodox manner, and you see them 
held low, and shining under the hands of 
the skilful operator. 

Here, too, beards are trimmed and per- 
fumed, and the mustachio is twisted, or 
curled to the fancy of the wearer. Coffee- 
houses abound, and the sherbet shop I have 
seen, but no cream tarts^ either with or without 
pepper. In one quarter you will find every 
shop filled with slippers of red or yellow lea- 
ther, and men working at that trade; in ano- 
ther saddlers dwell. I went into a large yard, 
filled with old Mamaluke saddles, all torn and 
weather-stained, the blue, and crimson, and 



188 CAIRO. 

purple velvets faded, and the embroidery 
tarnished. Two or three workmen were 
making new, and some others embroidering 
new housings. I contrived to ask them if 
the saddles I saw were of the Mamaluke 
chiefs and their followers : they said, yes ; 
and then looked at each other, and at me, 
as much as to say, he has read about them 
in his book ; and I observed a strong ex- 
pression of regret as they regarded the old 
saddles. However, 'tis a selfish feeling with 
them, perhaps, for the killing off of the 
beys made quite a change in Cairo. Horses 
and rich saddles, and velvet housings, are 
seldom seen now. 

In the large open space before the castle 
you may see a few mountebanks and mon- 
keys, a kind of combat with staves ; and 
others, where men act and speak, also com- 
bating. A few small idle crowds are 
gathered in little knots round these, but 
there is little mirth, not to be compared 
with what you would meet in India ; their 
serpent charmers and dancing women I did 
not see, but from what I hear, and readily 



CAIRO. 1 89 

credit, they are inferior to like exhibitions 
in India. The Arabian Nights' Entertain- 
ments yield, in Cairo, with the Arabs and 
people generally, to the tale of Antar, so 
at least I was informed, for at night, their 
great story-telling season, I had no oppor- 
tunity of seeing the groups of listeners. In 
one large bezestein you see numbers of 
cloth merchants, and bales of cloth, silks, 
shawls, &c.^; in another, you see gar- 
ments made up, and those for the soldiery 
or attendants (the rich and great dressing 
always plain) are covered with so much 
embroidery, that hussar officers would smile 
to see themselves eclipsed. There is a quar- 
ter allotted to the Moggrebyns; they bring 
fine white cloaks, red caps, and a stouter, 
stronger slipper, of a different shape from 
the common one, for sale. Here I met with 
one of my companions ; and, as I was bar- 
gaining for a red cap, a Moor came over to 
interpret; an elderly good-tempered man : 
he also led us to a lane filled with the shops 
of perfumers, my friend wishing to buy 
some atar. I did not think a Turk could 



190 CAIRO. 

have recommended his essences and per- 
fumed waters with such smihng and perse- 
vering animation as did the youth ^' before 
whose shop we stopped. They are cheap, 
and put up in httle glass bottles, gilded and 
figured with flowers and stars. It was very 
late that evening, and we made the old 
Moor conduct us home to the Frank quar- 
ter ; we wound through a number of nar- 
row lanes, and in one, where all the shops 
were shut, and the Turks gone, our man of 
Morocco struck up " God save the King," 
of which he sung a verse or two in a man- 
ner the most comic. He had been in Eng- 
land, and had a sort of delight and pride in 
the circumstance, which, all silly as he was 
in the expression of it, did more than mere- 
ly divert us. There is no way so short to 
the heart of an Englishman as to praise his 
country. It is not that you value the 
praises given, because, in ninety-nine cases 
out of a hundred, the foreigner, be he Turk 



* He was a fresh complexioned bright-eyed youth, 
and in his way quite the " Jin Fin" of his quarter. 



CAIRO. 191 

or Parisian, knows not what he praises ; but 
you who do see all the privileges and the 
glories which you are heir to summoned to 
your awakened thoughts. 

Our last ride in the neighbourhood of 
Cairo was to the site of Heliopolis, It was 
a Friday, and women were going veiled 
among the tombs, with flowers to sprinkle 
on them. When these adornings of the 
tomb are the tribute of sincere grief 
and affection, the soothing to the heart 
of the mourner must be great ; for there 
is a sacred pleasure in such innocent 
rites, honouring the dead over whom you 
weep. We have, in our days, refined a 
great deal too much upon ancient, and sim- 
ple, and salutary customs ; and because, in 
our happy, spiritual, and reformed church, 
we have conscientiously abolished masses 
over the grave, I know not why the ceme- 
tery and the churchyard are to be aban- 
doned to the sexton and the nettle. Long 
after we cease to weep, or even regret the 
dead, we may read a sermon without book, 
we may hear a monitor without a voice, as 



192 CAIRO. 

we look and tread upon the stone which 
covers their black coffin. 

We passed on the road an encampment 
of Turkish horse, lately returned from 
Arabia; the horses were by no means fine, 
nor had the men a soldier's look ; however, 
we only saw them en passant^ as they lay 
picketed and grouped about. In appear- 
ance the Mogul horse are princely warriors 
compared to them ; but I believe there is 
no doubt that the Turk has the stuff in him, 
the real courage to meet the biting blade 
when put to it. Moreover, such specimens 
of Turkish horse as you see in Egypt can- 
not be a fair sample of the Ottoman 
cavalry. 

About four miles from the city we found 
a small caravan of 500 or 600 camels, col- 
lecting for Suez ! Some had already gone 
forwards, and the rendezvous for that even- 
ing's halt having been named, they were 
lying idle, or moving off in parties of ten 
and twenty into the desert. The scene is 
very interesting; the character of their 
journeys, and their customs in travelling. 



CAIRO. 1 93 

are so opposed, so widely opposed^ to any 
thing with which you can compare them in 
Europe. The master and the slave are 
here brought nearly to the same level ; the 
master has a better carpet, a neater pillow, 
a mouth-piece to his pipe, either of the 
finest amber, or otherwise richly enamelled, 
is well-dressed, has nothing to do, smokes, 
and never moves ; the slave has a coarser 
carpet, a dirtier pillow, a wooden pipe, is 
well-clothed, and has a little, and very little, 
to do ; the coffee which he makes, and the 
meal which he prepares, he also partakes of. 
Both sit upon the sand, and encounter the 
sun by day, and the dew of night. The 
women sit enveloped in their mantles when 
halted, and ride shut up in litters of basket- 
work, covered with cloths and curtained. 
We saw this caravan at a moment when you 
might catch every variety of grouping af- 
forded by the acts of loading, cooking, 
smoking, sleeping ; camels without burdens 
kneeling to have them fixed, or moving off 
loaded ; groups of families, slaves, servants, 
children ; drivers, armed Arabs, and friends 



194 CAIRO. 

taking leave of each other : their saluta- 
tions, in this country, are as of old, they 
fall on each other's neck and kiss. All this 
seen, and then a thought directed back to 
the period when caravans of many thou- 
sand* camels used to traverse the immense 
deserts of Libya, in which there have 
been instances of their total destruction, 
and their sufferings were often very great ; 
and, when they used to be looked for in the 
khans of Cairo with no common anxiety; a 
little increases for us the charm of such a 
passage as — - 



" In Cairo's crowded streets 



Th' impatient merchant wondering waits in vain, 
And Mecca saddens at the long delay." 

We rode on to Matarea, saw the well, the 
garden, and the sycamore, where, tradition 
says, Joseph and the virgin, and the infant 
Saviour reposed, oppressed with thirst, and 
water welled forth miraculously to refresh 



* That from the interior of Africa is still often com- 
posed of from 3000 to 6000 camels. 



CAIRO. 195 

them ; of the sycamore tree, it opened, 
they say, to receive our Saviour and his 
mother, their pursuers being at hand. Two 
centuries ago, Paul Sandys found the tree 
hacked for relics, so did we, and rudely 
carved all over with names and crosses ; a 
proof that they, who invented such legends, 
did well know human nature, which is ever 
running after something on which to look 
with a permitted and excusable affection, 
thereby wandering from the spirituality and 
simplicity of faith : and, with all one's 
proud incredulity, how comes it that we 
receive pleasure from contemplating such 
objects ? Why, call him by what name you 
will, man is dear to man, and when any- 
thing connected with the history of the 
human heart is brought before us, we can- 
not refuse our sympathy. 

A tall lone obelisk stands in a spacious 
field, which each year is flooded by the Nile, 
and yields a harvest to the husbandman. 
You ride up to it and alight. It is just such 
a monument as should mark the site of a 
renowned and perished city — majestic, so- 

o 2 



196 CAIRO. 

Htary, — no columns, walls, statues ; nothing 
for the antiquarian to display his learning 
on, save the hieroglyphics, which mock him. 
Yet are we thankful to him ; for, through 
his labours, we learn that we are standing 
on the very spot where the ancient On of 
the Scriptures, the Heliopolis of a later day, 
raised this pillar of her pride, under which 
the sages of Greece listened with the doci- 
lity of children, and the lord of Persia, in 
the maddening moment of victory, was awed 
into an act of mercy. 

Another kind of college than that of the 
priests of On is now rising on the banks of 
the Nile. Ali Pasha has an institution in 
the empty palace of Ismail Pasha ; I could 
not learn either the number of its professors 
or students, or anything farther than that 
the scholars were to be taught everything. 
We saw there several fine-looking youths, 
in Turkish costume; and no questions about 
the establishment could I get answered. A 
man showed us the library, who styled him- 
self one of the under tutors ; just as low a 
Levantine in manner and speech as we met. 



CAIRO. 197 

Among the books, a most conspicuous 
place was occupied by a number of volumes 
backed " Victoires des Fran9ais!" I observed 
" Les Liaisons Dangereuses," two large 
volumes backed " L' Amour," Byron, in 
French prose 1 1 ! and one solitary book in 
English — Malcolm's Persia. 

This will convey some little idea of what 
the Egyptian Institute is likely to be ; how- 
ever, an establishment of this sort reflects 
credit on the pasha, and must be productive 
of great good ; for if the boys were to read 
all the trash, and the worst trash which 
France could send them, they would be 
every way, even in morality, gainers. 

This evening I took my last walk in the 
bazaars of Cairo. I wanted to buy a car- 
pet, and thought I would amuse myself by 
shopping where I had often, in my mind's 
eye, fancied and followed others. I was 
sometime before I found the carpet shops ; 
at last I did, and in broken Arabic, asked 
for what I wanted : a dozen were displayed 
to me ; I made choice of a small one. I 
observed a large, coarse, brawny fellow, in 

o 3 



198 CAIRO. 

the common brown dress, with a basket 
and a rope in his hand, come near ; by his 
countenance, which was expressive of great 
good temper, he seemed to take an interest 
in my purchase. The merchant and myself 
were both soon satisfied about the price. 
My large friend immediately offered to 
carry it wherever I ordered : I bade him 
take it, and follow me ; and I bought at ano- 
ther shop, one of those large white wool- 
len prayer cloths^ of the Mohammedans, 
meaning to lay it under my carpet, which I 
designed in future as my bed. My next 
want was a pillow ; I mentioned it to the 
porter, and away he trudged as my guide : 
it was to a quarter remote, retired, and 
quite in an opposite direction. We passed 
through streets that were crowded, and 
long lanes were we met not a soul ; he saw 
that I was a stranger to the city, the cus- 
toms, and the language ; he might have 
easily run away with my carpet — nay, more, 
have knocked me down, and taken my watch 



They answer well as a blanket. 



CAIRO. 199 

and purse: he did not, however. He 
brought me to shops where there was cot- 
ton for stuffing, and red leather for covers 
worked and stamped ornamentally; and 
was anxious to see me served well. After 
some trouble, I found one ready made, 
bought it, and he led me to the Frank- 
quarter. Looking at him as he strode be- 
fore me with his basket and cord, I had 
the exact picture of the character as it is 
represented in the Arabian Nights, only 
there it was from shop to shop, caterirfg 
for a good supper, to which moreover the 
poor fellow was himself invited, and he met 
the three calenders and the Caliph Haroun 
Al Raschid : no Zobeide did I see ; and I 
rather suspect, that of all the characters in 
those tales, none is left so much what he 
was as the simple porter. To be sure you 
might find a hunchback ; a tailor, a Jewish 
doctor, a Turkish purveyor, and a Chris- 
tian merchant, are all daily to be met with, 
go where you will ; I have seen a black 
slave with a cane, leading his master's son ; 
and though handsome men do not abound 

o 4 



200 CAIRO. 

in the city, yet I should not be at a loss 
for a Bedreddin Hassan in the streets of 
Cairo.* 

Having discharged our Indian and Ara- 
bian servants, who each, in his way, had 
conducted themselves most highly to our 
satisfaction, and carried with them our re- 
wards and good wishes, we supplied their 
places with a long Levantine, named Marco, 
and an Italian, called Giovanni, and left 
Cairo for Alexandria. 

We had a young man of our crew, whose 
appearance rather puzzled us — handsome 
features, a sweet smile, and a complexion 
quite fair, and that would have been femi- 
ninely so, but for the fierce sunning, which 
had given it a manly bronze : he had the 
common brown zaboot exchanged once for 
the blue frock, the little white scullcap, 
pulled at his oar, sung harshly, tore his 



* I think the population of Cairo is over-rated ; to 
be sure, in the cool hour of the afternoon, the streets 
are thronged, for all the men are out ; but I doubt much 
if it amounts to two hundred thousand. 



CAIRO. 201 

bread*, and smoked like the rest ; neither 
appearing to consider himself, or being- 
looked upon by the others, as differing in 
birth and blood. f 

In our walks on the shore, we saw a 
small cantonment of cavalry, and met a 
funeral, with the hired mourning women. 
Near Fouah, as the head of the pasha's ca- 
nal was shut up and cleaning out, we had 
to change our boat, and our things were to 
be conveyed on camels about two miles. 
Here began our necessary annoyance and 
trouble ; for as the plague was at Alexan- 
dria, we had been instructed not to let the 
boatmen from that place touch either our- 
selves, our baggage, or our servants. Here, 
too, as we walked across, and passed amid 
the crowds of Arab fellahs, labouring on 
the canal, we were abused and pelted with 
mud. We laughed at, and forgave, and 
pitied them. They are impressed with an 



* The bread is thin, tough, and pHant, hke a cake in 
England, called a crumpet. 

f He must have been of a European father. 



202 . ALEXANDRIA. 

idea that the Franks encouraged the pasha 
to undertake this work ; and as he forces 
them from their famihes, and pays them 
with beans and the horse-whip, they can 
view us under no other light than joint op-- 
pressors. I speak, however, only of the 
very poorest classes, and of them only in 
the moment of suffering ; for I think, in 
general, throughout Egypt, the English- 
man (if he is known to be such) is well 
looked upon. 

We brought-to near the Pillar of Pom- 
pey — yes, so the British seaman, when he 
descries it from the tall mast, still calls it ; 
and though the inscription has been read, 
which gives it to Diocletian, the first Ro- 
man, who assumed the diadem and the 
silken robe of Persia, yet we rejoice at the 
error by which it is inseparably associated 
with the name and the renown of Pompey, 
who, in his youth, bore away the Spolia 
Opima, whose star paled before that of 
Caesar, whose brave blood was shed by a 
traitor and a slave on Egypt's inhospitable 
shore, while the shriek of his Cornelia was 



ALEXANDRIA. 203 

heard upon the wave, and over whom his 
proud conqueror is said to have mourned, 
while he triumphed in this very city. It is 
a noble column — its shaft one solid block 
of Oriental granite, nine feet in diameter, 
and rising with its pedestal and capital 
(which are by the way greatly inferior to it, 
and not proportioned) nearly one hundred 
feet : its daring grace fixes your admir- 
ation ; and wander where you will over 
the silent plains of Alexandria, you conti- 
nually find yourself pausing to gaze on it 
and wonder. 

The obelisk, styled the Needle of Cleopa- 
tra, and its fallen companion, are visited, but 
with less interest. Old Alexandria is gone : 
a large part of its site is still within the 
walls, which are extensive, and have been 
lately repaired and whitened by the pasha. 
It is but an inconsiderable corner of the 
walled space into which the modern city 
has been compressed ; for the remaindc r, 
mounds of rubbish and of sand deform it. 
A few spots have been reclaimed as date- 
gardens, and have dwellings under their 



204 ALEXANDRIA. 

shade ; on one small hill flies the Turkish 
flag, marking the citadel, and on another, 
is a small work and a signal station ; a few 
columns lie in the dust ; a few fragments 
of walls, foundations, and houses, (to which 
the practised eye of the antiquarian at once 
assigns a purpose, and decides whether 
Ptolemies, Antonines, or caliphs ruled 
at the period of their erection,) amuse 
your evening strolls ; everywhere troops of 
houseless, hungry, fierce dogs rush out on 
your path ; and as you stoop for a stone, 
you pickup marble, — such is Alexandria ! 
Mr. Lee, the consul, was cordially kind 
to us : he gave us up his garden-house, in 
the suburbs, where we performed a tedious 
quarantine of nearly four weeks waiting for 
the vessel in which we had taken our pas- 
sage to Malta, to load and put to sea ; but, 
the canal being closed, and the winds unfa- 
vourable for the grain-boats coming round 
from the Rosetta branch of the Nile, here we 
were unavoidably detained ; our exercise 
and enjoyment limited to a few morning 
visits to Mr. Lee, in his parlour, a mark of 



ALEXANDRIA. ^05 

no common confidence ; for in general, 
during the plague season, the Europeans 
shut themselves in, and peep timidly at all 
visitors through a square hole in a locked 
door, through which they receive every- 
thing, even to the cleaned shoe, (after it 
has undergone fumigation), with a long pair 
of tongs. 

To those who have never been in a 
plague-infected city, and have never seen 
a case of plague, or thought much 
about its subtlety, and awful ravages, it is 
at first highly comic to see all the little 
precautions adopted ; and you cannot meet 
without a smile those Franks, whose more 
humble rank, or the nature of their busi- 
ness, compels to stir about, armed with a 
thick stick to prevent a dog touching them, 
and making wide circuits to windward^ 
round every man, camel, and jackass, which 
they meet. 

In this garden-house there was a Maltese, 
whom we found there, and who lived with 
us during our stay ; not a man to our taste, 
but whose intelligence and acquaintance 



c 



06 ALEXANDRIA. 



with all the principal places in the Turkish 
dominions gave us at first, both amusement 
and information. We had a shady walk in 
our garden, some books, an excellent table ; 
for our Giovanni, a Florentine, though pro- 
bably only a scullion there, here shone as 
an artist. There was a little lofty summer- 
house, from the roof of which you had a 
fine panoramic view of both harbours, and 
all the country round ; and our cool, shady, 
and agreeable little retreat was shared by 
a large flamingo, who with his tall straight 
legs, long neck, hooked bill, -and rose-co- 
loured wings, used to stalk about the nar- 
row garden as if he quite agreed with us 
that it was a very provoking thing to be 
shut up and debarred of liberty. 

As jackasses, their saddles, and above 
all, their drivers are most susceptible arti- 
cles, we had no opportunity of other exer- 
cise than a walk, and as the heat of the 
day is not to be encountered with impunity, 
our saunterings were never very distant. 

We went, however, out of the Rosetta 
gate, towards the field of battle, on which 



ALEXANDRIA. 207 

our arms triumphed, and the gallant ve- 
teran, Abercroraby, fell ; and from the low 
heights, which have the marks of those 
French lines and works where our people 
suffered some loss in men on the 13th of 
March, we traced the position of the com- 
batants on the memorable 21st. There is 
a deep-felt joy you never can resist the 
indulgence of, when you stand upon 
ground, where your countrymen have given 
the huzza of victory ; but as you turn and 
catch the tall Pillar of Pompey looking on 
you, and the point of an obelisk showing 
itself above the wall of the old city, you 
fancy that they check your pride. 

" The festal blazes, the triumphal show, 
The ravish'd standard, and the captive foe, 
The senate's thanks, the gazette's pompous tale. 
With force resistless, o'er the brave prevail ; 
Such bribes the rapid Greek o'er Asia whirl'd, 
For such the steady Romans shook the world. 

This power has praise, that virtue scarce can warm, 
Till fame supplies the universal charm." 

The old harbour of Alexandria is hardly 



208 ALEXANDRIA. 

ever entered or used, save by the grain- 
boats from Rosetta, which come close up to 
the mole, and lie there in security. The 
new was full of vessels, as in addition to 
the traders from the Mediterranean, which 
are numerous, the Egyptian squadron, with 
several transports, lay waiting to take on 
board troops, and proceed with a reinforce- 
ment to Candia. To the westward of the 
city, all along the shore, you may trace the 
Necropolis ; the wave has broken into the 
Catacombs, with its cheerful voice, and 
cleansing waters ; little grots are formed 
under the shelter of a rocky roof; or, in 
parts, the long narrow niches in which the 
dead have lain, are filled with the clear 
and sparkling element, and invite the living 
to repose in them as in baths formed for 
their accommodation. Nearly two miles 
from the gate, in this direction, lies the 
reservoir called the Bath of Cleopatra. It 
is a spot which would bear description, if 
I knew how to give it, receiving its waters 
from the ocean, through a natural arch in 
the rock, and having in addition to its open 



ALEXANDRIA. 209 

pool, two or three little chambers, or ca- 
vernous recesses filled with v/ater ; but, 
though the queen of Egypt may have 
bathed here, I should rather incline to 
think that it was a natural bath, pretty 
much what we now see it, and perhaps 
made sacred by the priests of Serapis or 
Isis. 

All naked and desolate as are the sand 
hills of Alexandria, it is a spot replete with 
interest to the musing mind : one where 
you may think down hours to moments ; 
the glory of its great founder, and the 
beauty of its later queen are hackneyed 
themes. But you cannot turn the page of 
history, without finding it made the scene 
of events, the most affecting and memor- 
able. Perhaps the death scene of Cleo- 
menes, the Spartan king, may vie in in- 
terest with any of its own peculiar character. 
Somewhere on this shore, every morning 
before they repaired to their learned la- 
bours, seventy aged men performed their 
ablutions, and bowed down before the 
true and only God. The English pea- 

p 



210 ALEXANDRIA. 

sant in his retired village, the African in 
his slave-hut, and the Hottentot in his 
kraal, have reaped the benefit of those 
labours; for those men were elders of Israel, 
and their task that memorable translation 
of the sacred Scriptures, to which the world 
in knowledge, in happiness, and in freedom, 
is so much a debtor. There is yet an- 
other picture connected with the history of 
this city, which is painted by Gibbon with 
all the strength of his poetical powers — the , 
destruction of the magnificent temple of 
the god Serapis ; the Colossal statue, the 
soldier and the battle-axe ; the multitude, 
their awe and anxiety, even the Christian ; 
and the fall of the idol, and the shout, 
and the burning, and the crowded amphi- 
theatre, — what a scene to recall ! 

At last we left Egypt, and away with 
fair winds and full sails, and hopes and 
spirits high. Our vessel had an air of 
cleanliness and security ; our captain ap- 
peared, and proved, a good sample of an 
English seaman ; faithful to his employers, 
considerate to his crew, and a well-in- 



THE PLAGUE. 211 

formed sensible man. We felt again at 
home ; we had discharged our foreign 
servants, and were now waited on hy an 
Englishman, whom Mr. Lee recommended 
to us — a man already embarked by him 
in this vessel, a discharged servant return- 
ing to Malta ; and he, poor fellow, looked 
happy at the thought of having escaped 
from a country where he had found no 
friends. 

We had been favoured with four days' fine 
run, and reckoned the next morning on see- 
ing Candia, when Thomas, the servant, was 
reported sick. The morning came, wind 
still fair, and sun bright, when the captain 
announced to us that the cabin-boy com- 
plained of a tumour in his groin. We went 
to see him ; health was on his cheek, and 
sparkling in his eye ; but there was every 
reason to fear that the plague had touched 
them both. The ship was put about, and 
we beat back. These two had been more 
particularly employed about us in the cabin ; 
they had touched everything in it — our 

p 2 



212 THE PLAGUE. ' 

clothes, shoes, our persons ; and it was im- 
possible not to contemplate the spreading 
of this calamity as a natural consequence. 
Yet, how to believe it ! What ! here upon 
the health-restoring ocean, with the breeze 
of heaven kissing your cheek, and sun- 
shine on the white sails ! Yes, it is often 
thus — in storms Heaven does but frown ; 
it is in a situation of this sort that man is 
reminded of the grave, in a voice which will 
not be silenced, which bids him prepare for 
death. But, alas ! how ? The wish to feel 
resigned, the love of life, the fear of death, 
create a confusion of thought ; he knows 
where to cling, but he cannot shut out the 
sentiment of fear ; he feels a guilty, de- 
praved, ungrateful thing ; the world he feels 
strong in his affections ; and, thus sum- 
moned to prepare for resigning them, all 
the blessings with which Heaven had sur- 
rounded him assume a higher value. Every 
man has some friends who smile on him ; 
some favoured spots which he delights to 
gaze on ; some pursuits for which his edu- 



THE PLAGUE. 213 

cation and taste have fitted him, and in 
which he has wasted many uncounted hours 
of his being. All these rise with increased 
charms to his weak imagination, and re- 
proach him with his unfitness for a better 
world. 

" To lie in cold obstruction and to rot; 
This sensible warm motion to become 
A kneaded clod." 

We shrink from it ; we all do. 

" Oh ! who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 

This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, 
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day. 
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ?" 

We had a party calm, tranquil, and as 
little outwardly disturbed, perhaps, as men 
could be under such circumstances. No 
idle apprehensions, no vain complainings, 
but, in the silent night sometimes, an anxi- 
ous feeling of those glands where the plague 
first seizes its victims ; a fancy that they 
were swelling with the subtle poison. 

Luckily the wind proved fair, and in three 
days we again anchored in the harbour of 

p 8 



214 THE PLAGUE. 

Alexandria. A boat came for the man*, 
and as the boy still preserved an appear- 
ance of health, we were in hopes that he 
was not infected ; but when the doctor came 
on board and examined him, he decided that 
it also was a clear case of plague. 

The man was lifted, and let down into 
the boat by the crew ; his appearance was 
shocking ; he was light-headed, his face and 
hands emaciated, and covered with small 
livid spots ; his eye rolling, yet glazed ; his 
lip white ; speechless and helpless ; he died 
the next day. The boy, on the contrary, 
who did not go on shore till two hours later, 
looked as a mother would wish to see her 
child, and spoke as a father would like to 
hear him. The moment after the doctor 
had given his opinion he would let no sailor 
touch or assist him in any way, and he got 
into the boat that was to carry him to a 



* The man's case was pronounced a very bad one; 
he never had any tumour or swelling of the glands. It 
was what they term the internal plague — slow in destroy- 
ing, but always fatal. 



THE PLAGUE. 215 

plague hospital, In a strange land, and among 
strangers of all nations, with a most cheer- 
ful and manly resignation. Here we lay 
for eighteen daj^s, performing a quarantine 
of observation, and then again put to sea. 

On our return to Alexandria we had gone 
through all the course of fumigation and 
cleaning prescribed. Every susceptible 
article was dipped in water for four and 
twenty hours, and everything laid out in 
the sun and the open air. By God's bless- 
ing not one person in the ship caught the 
melancholy disease, a circumstance perhaps 
as remarkable as is on record. While we 
lay in the harbour of Alexandria the pasha's 
squadron, consisting of two frigates, one a 
very fine vessel, and several brigs, sailed for 
Candia. We saw the troops embark ; they 
did so in a most slovenly, irregular man- 
ner; I hoped for, and I augured their dis- 
comfiture. 

The day before we came away I went on 

shore with the captain to see and take 

leave of the consul, and also to visit the 

boy in hospital. He came to the door, pale 

p 4 



216 THE PLAGUE. 

and shrunk away to a mere shadow of what 
he had been, yet calm and manly ; his tu- 
mour had not been opened, but the doctor 
said there was no doubt that he would do 
well. 

This was consolation; and, as the brig we 
sailed in was to return again to Alexandria, 
the captain left him in the consul's charge 
without much anxiety. 

On the 15th of June we again got under 
weigh, and we had a very long tedious pas- 
sage to Malta, contending almost the whole 
of it with contrary winds and a head sea ; 
rewarding breaks however we had ; we saw 
the seven capes of the rugged coast of Cilicia, 
and distinguished scattered patches of white 
snow lying un melted at an untrodden 
height, upon a branch of the black and wide- 
extended Taurus. We saw Rhodes, an 
island famed in story ; Scarpanto, too, we 
looked upon ; and lay becalmed under the 
lee of Candia, with Ida rising majestically 
above us. 

How strong are human sympathies ! how 
do we hail upon the ocean the dim-seen 



CANDIA. 217 

promontory ! how do we delight to run 
along a coast, whatever are its features, and 
to catch, through the glass, a something 
that speaks of life ! Should no cottage meet 
the eye, still the browsing goat and the so- 
litary herdsman may be seen ; or, on the 
beach, the fisher and his bark ; and if by 
night, as thoughtfully we pace the deck, we 
do but see on a long line of coast one soli- 
tary fire, our heart flies to it. 

We were five days in sight of Candia, a 
high, rocky, bold shore. In one of its small 
inlets St. Paul wintered on his passage to 
Italy. Jove's cradle peers forth above the 
surrounding mountains, and it is reading 
poetry to lean over a vessel's side and look 
at ancient Crete. Yes ; and a higher, a 
more sacred pleasure, when we know that 
with " Peor and Baalim," and " mooned 
Ashtaroth," and Libyan Ammon, the Cre- 
tan Jove has passed away. 

On the fifth morning, with a strong and 
freshening breeze, we were just clearing the 
island, as we saw, lying almost hid under the 
lofty land, a large armed schooner, and in 



218 CANDIA. 

the offing, far a-head, to the northward of 
us, a brig under reefed topsails. The 
schooner made sail, and stood towards us in 
pretty style ; when nearly up with us, down 
came the topsail, and up ran the Greek in- 
dependent flag ; and she fired a gun and 
brought us to. Our captain, whose great 
fault, in my eye, had been a constant 
and indiscriminate abuse of the Greek, 
of whom he could know little, and praise 
of the Turk, of whom he knew nothing 
beyond what two voyages to the Levant 
had enabled him to pick up in the port 
of Smyrna, was alarmed lest they should 
overhaul, seize him, or do worse, and 
immediately said, " Now you will see 
what these rascals will do." Nothing 
could be more orderly or respectful than 
their bearing. The captain, a grave, dark, 
erect man, of about forty, stood at his gang- 
way, and hailed us through his speaking 
trumpet ; his costume, that of the Asiatic 
Greek, which is very similar to the Turk, 
but he wore a large broad straw hat over- 
shadowing his face. As he stood, his per- 



CANDIA. 219 

son exposed at his gangway, he had a 
manly commanding look, and still more so 
as he stepped down into his boat, and again, 
when he stood up in it as it pulled under 
our stern, and rose, sunk, and swayed to the 
high and buoyant waves. He asked a few 
questions about the sailing of the Egyptian 
squadron, our lading, time out, and whither 
bound ; communicated to us intelligence of 
the capture of some castle on the northern 
coast of Candia, and the blockading of a 
port on that side ; and warned our captain 
not to attempt carrying his cargo of grain 
in to the Turks, as, if he did, he should seize 
upon and detain his vessel. He saluted as 
he came alongside, and as he pulled oiF; 
and his boat shot handsomely athwart our 
bows and away. The boat's crew were 
handsome, bold-looking young men, tur- 
baned ; among them was a youth who pulled 
at the bow oar, of a very fair complexion, 
with a remarkably fine and fearless expres- 
sion of countenance. 

On board the vessel, which was a fine sea- 
boat, and well armed, everything was done 



220 CANDIA. 

smartly, well, and in seamanlike style, — • 
you heard but the whistle, and she made 
sail and away. 

May the God of battles prosper them ! 
say I. The open honest Turk, and the cun- 
ning deceitful Greek, as I have too often 
heard Englishmen designate them. Who 
makes the Grecian what he is ? As noble 
thoughts find a place in his bosom, they 
will swell and expand, and force out all the 
weaker weeds, which would choke their 
growth. 

I know not how the Englishman, who 
isfree, or the Christian, who has a Bible, 
can say his prayers, and wish the Turk 
success, 

" Lords of the biting axe and beamy spear, 

Wide-conquering Edward ! Lion Richard I hear I" 

It cannot be that England has forgotten 
you, and her great forefathers. How can 
we look upon the emblazoned crosses on 
the banners of our nobles, and forget their 
deeds of arms against the Saracen ? How 
can we, who prize our present liberty far 



CANDIA.- 221 

more than the rich legacy of their proud 
renown, look with cold indifference upon 
Christian slaves and trampled crosses, — 
those slaves, the descendants of the men, 
who, all inferior as they may have been to 
their wiser, mightier, and braver ancestors, 
did yet in the last sad scene, which gave a 
Turkish master to their falling empire, op- 
pose, with a small firm band, forces qua- 
druple in numbers, and did bravely strug- 
gle in the unequal contest ? What sultan, 
from Mohammed the first and fiercest, what 
sultan can compare with the last Constan- 
tine, either in the conduct of his life, or 
glorious manner of his death ? Gibbon, all- 
favouringly and poetically as he has written 
of the Mohammedan, has been, after all, too 
faithful in his history to leave us without 
facts sufficiently indicative of the hellish 
spirit of their faith and government. But 
" the Greek is cruel," say many, — the re- 
venge of a beaten slave is always cruel ; he 
is deceitful, — the cunning of a slave is his 
defence. The balance of power is upheld 
by the crescent, it is our interest that the 



222 MALTA. 

Ottoman should reign in strength, — perish 
the thought ! 

Europe still suiFers, at least, degradation, 
for having slumbered when the fainting 
Greeks called to her nearly four centuries 
ago, and fell digging their own red monu- 
ments like him their king and leader, the 
immortal Constantine. 

We made Malta two days before we got 
in. When we neared the island, several 
boats came out to tow us into and up the 
quarantine harbour ; fine, clean, painted 
boats, of a pretty construction ; the crews 
brown, healthy-looking men, and showing 
clearly by the neatness and style of their 
dress, that they had either served with, or 
closely imitated British seamen. I must 
except the boat of the clerk, or custom- 
house officer, who boarded us ; the men 
were dressed more like tradesmen of the 
middling class, taking a row for pleasure. 

The castle of St. Elmo and the walls of 
Valetta, crowning with their works steep 
and scarped rocks washed by the sea, look 
down frown ingly upon you, as you are 



MALTA. 223 

towed past, but far below them, and pre- 
sent the stern aspect of strength unassail- 
able. 

The apartments in the Lazaretto are spa- 
cious and cool, but they have no yard or 
garden for exercise. Servants are easily 
procured from Valetta, who share your 
confinement with you ; any tavern-keeper 
opposite supplies your table ; also lets out 
such articles of furniture as you may re- 
quire. We patiently endured this impri- 
sonment, and by patience disarmed it of 
half its annoyances. 

The vessels coming in crowded with the 
small pretty red cattle of Barbary : others 
with the fruits of Sicily ; the gambols of 
swimmers and divers ; at the fall of day, 
the hymns or songs of the mariners ; and 
in the night, the well-known cry of " All's 
well," from the British sentries, amused or 
soothed the mind ; and we had so much of 
enjoyment in prospective; so much of con- 
finement, far more anxious and irksome be- 
hind us, that we could not but be thankful 
and contented. 



224 MALTA. 

On the 13th of August we obtained pra- 
tique, and passed over to Valetta ; where, 
during our short stay, we received great 
attention from Mr. Grant, a respected Eng- 
lish merchant, and where I had the happi- 
ness of meeting an old and valued friend 
of my family. Valetta is a town of great 
and peculiar beauty : it more favourably 
impressed us, too, as coming from the 
wretched city of Alexandria. Nothing can 
be cleaner or more cheerful than its streets ; 
the shops have assumed altogether an Eng- 
lish form and appearance. All the Maltese 
of the better and middling classes, that is, 
the men, are dressed like the English ; the 
women are still covered with the black 
stole, and use it as a veil, or rather open 
hood, for they seldom close it, showing 
bright eyes and white teeth, but complexions 
and features far from good : the poor pea- 
sants are dressed in blue cotton jackets, and 
brown caps hanging down behind, like those 
of all the Mediterranean sailors, and many 
of the peasants on the coasts. Priests you 
see in great numbers, and, in general, they 



MALTA. 2'25 

are well clothed. Also you may observe, 
sprinkled about among the congregations, 
in the churches, a few old men, dressed ac- 
cording to their station and means, but not 
belonging to the present order of things at 
all : some of these are powdered ; some with 
their grey hair combed back, and confined 
by bag or queuej their narrow single-breast- 
ed coats, of strange colours and materials, 
with broad round buttons ; knee-buckles and 
shoe-buckles, and silk or cotton stockings ; 
men who have outlived their own times 
and tastes ; finding no place unaltered but 
the church, where they are constant at their 
masses, and praying, perhaps, with strange 
tenacity of life, for yet another year of cheer- 
less existence. The churches and aiiberges 
belong to the old time: the palace of the 
governor is a fine building, as is the Au- 
berge d'Espagne. The view from the ram- 
parts on the eastern side of Valetta is re- 
markable ; you look down on the great 
harbour, lying (all filled as it is with ship- 
ping, and alive with fast-rowing boats) like 
a basin below you : opposite, lies the galley 

Q 



226 MALTA, 

harbour ; the two necks of land, which form 
it, present to you then- armed points, and 
are covered with buildings and fortifica- 
tions ; and on either side of them are again 
small narrow bays, in which, now and then, 
a ship may anchor ; but without a plan, or 
a very clear head, it is difficult to describe 
these most secure and strangely formed har- 
bours : pleasant it is to look down on them, 
and pleasant to row across and up that gal- 
ley harbour, with the castles of St. Angel o 
and La Isola towering on either side of you ; 
and to remark staircases and doors in the 
living rock, opening on the very sea, so 
that from many private houses the owner 
may step into his boat from his own 
threshold. The dock-yard, \Nith its long 
shady verandas for the workmen its trel- 
lis-covered rope-walk above, its empty 
galley-slips, the crowded borgo, and the 
large church, have a character in them 
pleasing to the eye. 

The palace in Valetta has, like others, its 
galleries and state apartments, and they are 
decorated variously : the tapestry chamber 



MALTA. 227 

is a great curiosity : scenes in Africa and 
Asia, represented with a fidelity of design 
and richness of colouring, admirable in its 
way ; Africans, animals, birds, flowers, all 
after nature; the elephant to the life. 
There is a ball room of handsome pro- 
porlions ; some paintings in the other 
apartments, of which, save a group of three 
females by the hand of a Dutch master, a 
beauty by Sir Peter Lely, and the Cain, in 
a picture of the Death of Abel, I have lost 
all recollection. The most famous picture 
they have there, is a full length portrait of 
Louis XIV. in his robes ; I did not even 
see it, although I stood awhile before one 
of Catharine of Russia in the same cham- 
ber. I know not how it is, but I think that 
the eye never rests long upon the portrait 
of a sovereign, in all the paraphernalia of 
state, although the attention is powerfully 
fixed if we find him represe^ited in any 
way which brings him, as it were, nearer 
and closer to us. There is an armoury 
every way disappointing ; tae poverty of 
the collection ; the absence of trophies, 

q2 



228 MALTA. 

save a few swords, maces, a suit of chain 
armour, and a horse breastplate of scale- 
work, probably Saracenic, has left to the 
officer charged with arranging the few suits 
of armour, swords, and partizans, a task 
not easy, but which he has executed in 
such a manner as thinly to line the long 
chamber, and cover its naked sides, I had 
thought that I should assuredly see here, 

" Crushed helms and batter'd shields, and streamers 
borne 
From vanquished fleets." 

For certainly these knights, before they 
became lawless and piratical, had fought 
the Turk, both in Rhodes and on this very 
rock, with a valour, remembering and rev- 
erencing which, you tread lightly on their 
graves ; and the pavement of St. John's, 
the high church of their order, is but one 
vast gravestone, all richly worked in mo- 
saic of variegated marbles, with the arms, 
scrolls, and m ottos of the knights beauti- 
fully inlaid. 

In the lateral chapels are some tombs in 



Malta. 229 

marble, and in bronze. Here you may 
see the Turk, and the Moor of Alrica, wri- 
thing in bonds ; the empty hehxiet ; the 
sword and battle-axe ; the warhke galleys 
of the order. Some of these lateral chapels 
were formerly of uncommon magnificence, 
all adorned with the purest sequin gold. 
Each language had its chapel and altar. I 
observed that St. George was in that of the 
Portuguese, while the figure of a saint in 
silver of so uncommon a name, that I have 
forgotten it, lay under the altar of the 
English language. The chapel of the holy 
sacrament has gates of solid silver. There 
is an oratory apart from the church, 
adorned with the richest marbles, and a 
painting of the beheading of St, John the 
Baptist; a subject often repeated in dif- 
ferent parts of the church. In the great 
recess behind the high altar, is a group of 
statuary, in white marble ; the subject, the 
baptism of our Lord, by St. John : the 
figures are colossal, and the distant effect 
good. 

Under the high altar is a vaulted chapel, 
Q 3 . 



230 MALTA. 

it contains three tombs, they gave me a 
single taper, and by its feeble ray, glim- 
mering on the pale marble, I saw where 
Villiers de Tlsle Adam, Valette, and V^ig- 
necour sleep in death. 

A few miles from Valetta is the house 
and garden of St. Antonio, the country re- 
sidence of the governor. A garden would 
be a delight on the rock of Malta, however 
poor a one. This covers twelve acres of 
ground, is clean, and well laid out ; there 
are flagged paths, jets d'eau, beautiful 
vines, large and variegated aloes, many 
shrubs and plants from the East ; among 
others, the delicate Chinese creeper, with 
those small crimson flowers, which do not 
live through the long day, a creeper com- 
mon in our gardens in India. There were 
some ostriches here : how very like to that 
of the camel is their fine eye. We drove 
on to Citta Vecchia ; the appearance of 
the country is altogether new to the most 
travelled eye : a few inches of soil, upon a 
base of barren burning rock, are husbanded 
with care; and by divisions, building in and 
confining the earth, wherever, by the in- 



MALTA. 231 

equality of the surface, it might otherwise 
escape, this brown, and dusty, and naked 
country, has, at the proper season, averdant, 
cultivated look. The cathedral of Citta 
Vecchia is large, rich, and decorated with 
abundance of fine marble ; has a cupola 
painted tolerably, and a picture of the 
martyrdom of St. Publio, whom they have 
represented just at the moment that he is 
about to obey the order, and cast himself 
down to the hungry lions. On his tribune 
sits the Roman ; and groups of anxious 
faces all around : as a whole, it is suffici- 
ently well done, not to offend the eye, and 
to aid the thought (a great end of painting). 
We saw a smaller church filled with pea- 
santry coarsely, but cleanly clad ; almost 
all the men were in waistcoats, and in 
their shirt sleeves, with the collar open. 
We went down into the cave of St. Paul. 
There is a very old image of our Saviour 
of wood, defaced and broken, said to be 
the same which the knights prized at 
Rhodes, as their palladium, and brought 
hither. There is here a statue of St. Paul, 

Q 4 



232 MALTA. 

of great merit, and very interesting has the 
sculptor made him. No doubt he had a 
living model in his eye ; the forehead, the 
nose, the lip, the hollow cheek, the whole 
countenance very expressive, affectingly so. 
We descended into the catacombs ; they 
are very extensive, but not extraordinary, 
or differing in their disposition from others. 
We visited the college. In the gallery are 
the portraits of knights in the robe, the 
armour, and in the surcoat, also paint- 
ings of galleys : there are moreover some 
portraits of females, sisters of the order, 
one of a beauty you do not soon forget ; 
there is also a picture of the grand master 
giving food to the sick, and two fine youths, 
portraits probably, attending him ; in a 
corner of this gallery are some very gro- 
tesque old portraits. I took a seat on the 
evening of this day at St. John's, and lis- 
tened to the " Gloria in JExcelsis,'^ I ob- 
served a youth much impressed and af- 
fected ; and tw^o mariners, Maltese, kneel- 
ing and 'crossing themselves, and looking 
rounds the church with an air of great 
pride — certainly it is a very handsome, a 



MALTA. 2S'6 

magnificent place of worship. I remarked 
on the roof the figm'es of knights, naked, 
wounded, and pale, trampling on their sur- 
coats, and their armour : the idea pleased 
me. I could not but think for a short mo- 
ment of the scene this church must often 
have presented ; when, on the 8th of Sep- 
tember, the anniversary of the repulse of 
the Turks, the knights came in armour, 
bearing the victorious standard ; and the 
cannon spake from the battlements ; and 
the solemn Te Deum was sung. We rejoice 
that these things have disappeared, that 
all monkish institutions are dead, or dying 
a natural death ; but we do not think of 
the first Hospitallers, the friends of the 
bleeding pilgrim, without veneration. In 
the old religion, with much to condemn, 
to smile at, and deplore, there was much 
to revere ; and powerfully did it operate to 
counteract the evils of man's criminal fero- 
city, by making his imposed penance a 
benefit to his fellow creatures. How beau- 
tifully does Shakspeare mark this in the 
following prayer, which he puts into the 
mouth of Henry the Fifth, on the eve of 



234 SICILY. 

battle, and which he closes with the true 
humble tone of self-abasement : — 



" Not to-day, O Lord, 

not to-day, think not upon the fault 
My father made in compassing the crown ! 

1 Richard's body have interred new ; 

And on it have bestowed more contrite tears, 
Than from it issued forced drops of blood. 
Five hundred poor [ have in yearly pay, 
Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up 
Towards heaven, to pardon blood ; and I have built 
Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests 
Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do : 
Though all that I can do, is nothing worth ; 
Since that my penitence comes after all, 
Imploring pardon." 

We sailed from Malta, on the 16th of 
August, in the Diana packet, for Syracuse : 
there were two passengers on board, offi- 
cers from the garrison of Malta, who were 
bound themselves on a short excursion, and 
we had the pleasure of their company, both 
in the lazaretto, and for some time after- 
wards. 

The features of Cape Passaro are such as 
they were long since described ; still the 
mariner sails safely^ in deep water, close 



SICILY. 235 

to the land, and might cast a javelin on 
the projeda saxa Pachyni. As you bear 
down on Syracuse it looks nobly ; it stands 
high ; its walls are massive, and you pass 
into its far-famed port between the pro- 
montory of Plemmyrium, and the extreme 
point of the ancient Ortygia on the west. 
The entrance of the harbour is almost im- 
mediately shut from the view, and, as you 
gaze around, above you, on the loftiest 
point of Syracuse, your eye at once assures 
itself of the site of some ancient temple; 
you know that the Fountain of Arethusa is 
within a bastion close to you ; you look 
up to the heights of Neapolis, and on to 
the Epipolis; stretched far out to the south- 
ward, and eastward of these heights you 
see that rich and beautiful valley, which 
the river Anapus and the stream Cyane 
still fertilise and adorn ; while, just below 
the confluence of their waters, on high 
ground above the river's bank, two large 
columns, discrowned of their proud capi- 
tals, still mark the site of that famous tem- 
ple once sacred to Olympian Jove. The 



286 SICILY. 

waters are smooth and silent, and there is 
a cahiG, protecting majesty in the scene 
around. 

We were confined for eleven days in a 
wretched wooden building, set apart for 
a lazaretto: still it was at Syracuse, — it 
looked upon a harbour and on shores which 
history has hallowed, and I felt contented, 
grateful, and happy. 

And now, reader, we are in Sicily, and 
shall pass home together through Italy, if, 
after the next page has been perused, you 
consent to travel in my company. Greek 
I can no longer read (I could at sixteen — 
ay, and feel much of the beauty of my 
authors) ; 1 am a sad hand at deciphering 
dates and names on rusty coins, or reading 
the half-defaced inscription on the moul- 
dering wall. Of the rules and terms of art 
I know little, nor can I decide at a glance 
to what master and school a painting may 
belong ; although this last knowledge is 
not very slow in coming to that mind 
which has dwelt, through the eye, on the 
works of a Domenichino or a Raphael. 



SYRACUSE. 9S1 

The Italian poets I cannot read in the ori- 
ginal, and my acquaintance with that lan- 
guage is self-acquired in a fortnight's gram- 
mar-reading, and having fulfilled my pur- 
pose, by enabling me to travel alone through 
Italy, may never perhaps be perfected. 
Now then, if you get into the voiture with 
me, be prepared for your companion. 

Syracuse, however, will not furnish us 
with such a convenience ; the carriage of 
Sicily is a vis-d-vis^ borne like a sedan- 
chair, on the backs of mules, who wind 
away along rugged and romantic bridle- 
paths, there being but very few carriage- 
roads in the country. As the weather was 
intolerably hot and oppressive, and the 
horses and mules for the saddle are ani- 
mals so wretched that it is a fatigue to 
ride them, we started for Catania in these 
conveyances, amused with the novelty, but 
thinking them better suited to lady fair, 
than travellers like ourselves. 

But I am forgetting myself — On the 
morning of our release, led by a pale-faced 
cicerone, mounted on such horses and 



238 SYRACUSE. 

mules, with such saddles and stirrups, as 
would have made studies for a comic pain- 
ter, and surrounded by a number of youths 
in blue velveteen breeches, jackets of the 
same or waistcoats only, white cotton 
stockings and white cotton caps, differing 
from your own nightcap, only in the long, 
bagging end of it, which hangs down be- 
hind ; we rode up to the site of Neapolis, 
passing by fragments of ruin, and riding 
through green lanes, with fields and gar- 
dens of a fat, black soil, and shaded by 
large and wide-spreading trees. You soon, 
however, emerge from them, and rise upon 
the naked point, where, with a rich field at 
its feet, a small mill to its left, a fountain and 
reservoir behind it, with an old chapel and a 
ridge of naked rock to its right, you discover 
the ancient theatre of Syracuse. Its casing 
of marble has been taken away, but it is 
otherwise perfect : its semicircular form, 
its rows of seats cut out of the rock, all 
remain, and many of them have been but 
little worn away in the long lapse of ages. 
The Syracusan, as he sat in this theatre, 



SYRACUSE. 239 

commanded a view which must have made 
all appeals to his love of country doubly im- 
pressive ; the proud citadel of Ortygia and 
the noble harbour it overlooks are nowhere 
seen to greater advantage than from this spot. 
It was here, perhaps, that they brought 
those captives, whose hves they spared be- 
cause they could recite the verses of Euri- 
pides, and with swelling bosom and tearful 
eye sat subdued before their captives. 

There passes, above the theatre, an an- 
cient road, hollowed in the rock, which is 
bordered, for a short distance, by sepul- 
chral grottoes, and is called a via sacra. 
Was it here, then, that Timoleon's ashes 
were borne along ? Does Archimedes 
sleep anywhere beneath these stones ? 
More than probable : and they who stood 
up and were silent, as the blind Timoleon 
came forth into the market-place, crowded 
into the empty benches of this silent thea- 
tre to hear those eloquent praises of his 
memory, to which his own ear was already- 
dull and cold. 

Come to this romantic spot: this strange- 



240 SYRACUSE. 

formed and lofty cavern, with sides winding 
inwards, in a rounded, graceful curve, and 
with a narrow duct running along its roof, 
is the ear of Dionysius. You sing, or 
spout, or laugh, and hear the tones of your 
glad voice resound in the hollow cave. It 
has echoed sadder sounds than these ; and 
here by its side, where, in larger and more 
spacious caverns, now the makers of small 
cord and twine with their families and 
children have found a cool shade and con- 
venient shelter, here the Roman drove in 
and penned up his fellozv-citizens of Sicily. 
While I was standing in the middle of this 
scene, which, from, the bold grandeur of 
the excavations, is truly fine, a little urchin, 
the height of my knee, was calling to me, 
" Cenza [eccellenza) guar date die bellissima 
colonna^^ and pointed to a square natural 
coluQin, or huge pilaster, of the rock. I 
smiled at the little dear, and clearly saw 
what the traveller must expect to meet 
with, where stammering toddlers are taught 
the jargon of ciceronu 

We visited the church of St. Giovanni, 



SYRACUSE. 241 

and descended with torches into its sub- 
terranean cemetery. Drear and awful are 
these long, obscure, and narrow streets, 
these narrow flwellings among which they 
pass. None but the dead, and the mourn- 
ers, andf the persecuted, knew these once. 
It was a rock-pierced city, built with the 
scooping-^axe r it has been populous, though 
with silent crowds ; not a bone is left: you 
look around, and see no end of the long 
passages^ you turn,. and ask to be led again 
into the bright and warm sunshine. We 
rode .to V. the Capuchin convent, standing 
westward from Ortygia, and beyond the 
site of Acradina.r Here is a latomia in the 
garden, pi^esenting a most picturesque ob- 
ject; large fragments and masses of the 
rock have fallen, arid plants, and grass, and 
creepers have clothed them and it, as 
painters, travelling with their sketch-books, 
would delight td find them. We returned 
by the small galley-harbour, lying also west 
of Ortigia. 

In the afternoon of this day I took a 
boat, with two of our party, and we rowed 

R 



242 SYRACUSE. 

across the harbour to the mouth of the small 
river Anapus, got out for a few minutes, 
while our boatmen dragged her over the 
sandy bar, and again stepping in, were 
rowed or pushed with poles, or dragged, by 
catching at branch and rush, far up the 
stream to where the papyrus plant, a tall, 
dark green reed, with a stately top of thin 
threadlike filaments, bows to the breeze. 
About half-way you pass a sweet spot, 
where the waters of the brook Cyane meet 
this small river, and quicken and gladden 
its current as they flow with it to the sea. 
Long, thick, and beautiful weeds lie waving 
and glistening on or beneath the surface 
of the water ; and, in a thick bed of rushes 
and river shrubs, Anapus and Cyane have 
made their nuptial couch : of her, they fable 
that she would have saved her mistress, 
Proserpine, and threw herself before the 
car of Pluto, by whom the nymph was 
changed into a fountain. Some tale of 
woman's virtue may have been clothed 
thus. The meadows near are green, and 
the fields beyond fertile, and the gently- 



SYRACUSE. 243 

swelling heights at the head of the vale are 
crowned with olive groves. Theocritus has 
walked on these banks, and from hence the 
banished Dion was led back again, with 
shoutings, into Syracuse. Returning down 
the stream we went up the right bank, and 
stood awhile near the two columns of the 
temple of Jupiter ; they are discoloured 
and decaying. They have seen, in their 
day, Athenians conquered, and clinging to 
them for mercy ; and they have seen a 
scoffing tyrant strip the statue of their god 
of his golden mantle, and they have seen 
the god taken from them by the Roman ; 
and they shall yet see, if the lightning 
spare them, more generations of men pass 
away, and perhaps the altar of truth and 
the genius of liberty guarding it, among a 
free and a happy people. As we recrossed 
the harbour heavy clouds gathered on the 
hills, and muttered in low thunders and 
hung threatening, but only a few big drops 
reached us. 

The fountain of Arethusa is no fountain; 
the traveller does not see it welling forth, 

R 2 



244 SYJIACUSE. 

but he descends to a spot where the bz'ooky 
which comes forth in a narrow stream from 
under one wall, and disappears under an- 
other opposite, spreads and forms a little 
bed. The waters are beautifully clear ; and 
on the smooth stones, in and round it, the 
Sicilian women wash their linen. It rained 
when I walked there. I found no washer- 
women, but I tasted the water; it was 
very brackish, and, though clear and spark- 
ling, I could noi get the dirty linen or the 
old women out of my head, so I gave up 
the effort of raising the nymph Arethusa, 
put up a large red silk umbrella, which a 
young sacristan had lent me at the door of 
the cathedral, and returned thither. 

This church .is -filled; with fine fluted 
columns of the Doric order : on this spot 
they were raised in the proudest day of 
Syracuse, and supported a magnificent 
temple dedicated to Minerva. 

There is a statue not far from this cathe- 
dral, rather a remarkable object, seen from 
the harbour as you enter and pass under 
the city ; it is that of a mitred bishop or 



SYRACUSE; 245 

saint; but it stands ia.sb bold an attitude, 
and holds up the crosier with such menacing 
dignity, that you might mistake it for that 
of a heathen god; so that many things in 
outward and idistant aspect carry your 
mind back to the times that were; to be 
sure, the noisy crowds of peasants, in their 
white night-caps, looking as. if they had 
been called up in the dark to extinguish a 
fire, and had forgotten to take them oif again, 
and the swarms of sallaw-looking priests, of 
all ages *, soon chase away the dream. 

Numbers of the peasants have fair com- 
plexions, that is, light eyes and flaxen hair; 
the latter, of course, the fierce sun of this 
island soon tinges, and deeply bronzes the 
cheek, which under English clouds, and in 
fog and rainy would < have proved red as 



* The little ten-year-old pa'iests (or even younger 
you see them) are abundantly diverting; the long robe, 
the cocked- hat, the black breeched, stockings, knee and 
shoe buckles, cannot overcome nature. To knuckle 
down in their full canonicals, and dirty their little puds, 
at some game, or in some gutter, with boys of their 
own age, is a pleasure yielded to with laughing eyes, 
and the shrieking merriment of the child. 

R 3 



246 SYRACUSE. 

the curly-headed plough-boy's of our own 
country. 

We crossed the plains of Leontium to 
the jingling of our mules' bells, and the 
rude and urging cry of our drivers, fine, 
stout, cheerful, hardy fellows, walking their 
forty miles* a day, rapidly and with ease, 
under burning suns ; but they are not like 
the Spanish muleteer ; he stands quite at 
the head of his own family, or caste of men, 
and for costume, his sombrero and his 
brown jacket without a collar, and the 
Sicilian's white night-cap, and flying shirt- 
sleeves ; you cannot name them together. 

The Malaria is found on these plains, 
and they are, for the most part, desert : in 
your day's journey, before you come down 
on them, you pass the port of Augusta on 
your right, the hill of Hybla on your left, 
and it is down a lofty height, covered with 
large full-sized olive-trees, that the road, 
in many windings^ descends. Beautiful are 
the sea-views you command, and I have 

* They take it by turns, though, to leap on the mule 
and relieve themselves. 



CATANIA. 247 

seldom seen so rich a grove of olives as the 
one through which we passed : the oUve- 
tree alone is not handsome, the growth of 
its branches and the smallness of the leaves 
do not please; but look back on a hill- 
side covered with them, and mark as they 
tremulously wave ; you shall see them dark 
or silvery, at every stir, as the leaves move 
to and fro with the wind's lightest breath. 

It was dusk when we entered Catania, 
and we got lodged in a small but good inn, 
kept by one Abbate, who had taken the 
trouble to come over to Syracuse and secure 
our custom, though but for a three days' 
sojourn. 

Catania is a very fine city ; its plan 
regular ; its streets handsome ; buildings 
fine ; and were it and they completed, 
according to the original design, would be 
truly noble. The Benedictine convent 
has a character, throughout, of the most 
princely magnificence : its church is lofty, 
spacious, even vast ; it is adorned with a 
lavish abundance of the finest marbles ; its 
choir and stalls of woodwork carved, in 

R 4 



248 CATANIA. 

compartments, with the most elaborate 
perfection ; scenes from Scripture-history in 
high relief, figures, features, costume even 
to the minutest points perfect and tasteful ; 
its lateral chapels rich in decorations, and 
with paintings sufficiently good to produce 
a general effect of awe and splendour ; and 
they have an organ of wonderful compass 
and sweetness, the work of a brother of 
their order, a Calabrian monk, who lies 
(it was his last request) buried beneath it. 
The marble staircase leading to their gal- 
leries, and chambers above, is grand as a 
monarch could wish. They have a museum^ 
wdth vases, lamps, bronzes, idols, a Roman 
eagle ! ! (did it fly at the head of a legion 
under Marcellus?) a small statue of Ceres, 
a Venus of beauty in black marble, a basso 
relievo in white marble of an initiation into 
the nocturnal mysteries of Bacchus, admira- 
bly executed ; the grouping fine, the figures 
natural, joyous, animated ; a thing you 
admire, but which saddens you. There is 
a picture of Raphael (they say) ; I much 
doubt this, but nevertheless it is beautiful j 



CATANIA. 249 

subject, the last supper, the heads, the 
heavenly mildness, the disciple sleeping^ 
long to be remembered. 

You leave the convent surprised how 
the monkish system could have ever aimed 
so high, and satisfied to think that it will 
fall. I have, in my life, been within the 
walls of humbler and sad convents where 
I have been surprised to find myself feel- 
ing otherwise. 

There is an ancient theatre here, a fine 
remain, built principally of large square 
masses of black lava ; of its marble-orna- 
ments and columns it was stripped by 
Roger the Norman. There are seats, 
stairs of communication, dormitories, and 
corridors ; the lower corridor is yet entire 
in its curved length, dark and vaulted. 
They say, and you gladly let them, that it 
was here Alcibiades harangued the ancient 
citizens ; and they boast, as they lead you 
round, that Stesichorus, the father of the 
chorus, and Andron, who first taught that 
moving to the flute, which we call panto- 
mime, (such as the serious ballet,) were both 



250 CATANIA. 

of Catania. There is an odeon near this 
ruin; there is also an amphitheatre, of the 
time of the Romans ; it was destroyed under 
Theodoric, and its materials have been 
taken, from time to time, by the Catanenses, 
as by Count Roger also, to build walls ; a 
fine mass of it is left, with a handsome 
cornice, a corridor, lateral vaulted dens, 
and the remains of a duct for water ; it is 
dark, and damp, and chill ; you have a 
torch ; as also, in descending into the baths 
beneath the cathedral, whither I went after- 
wards ; here you have large pillars and 
vaulted roofs; can trace relief upon the 
walls, and, as you walk to the dark ex- 
tremity, hear the rumbling of carriage- 
wheels above your head. There, is one 
very remarkable thing in these gloomy 
chambers, a small, clear murmuring brook, 
with a gravelly bed, flows through them ; 
it hath its source in Etna's bosom, and in 
its course reflects the sunshine, or takes but 
the shadow of green trees, as, nourishing 
their roots, it babbles by. What does it 
here? I thought what a comforter it would 



CATANIA. 251 

be to any victim of priestly tyranny incar- 
cerated in these vaults ; and such there 
may have been, for, when Roger founded 
this cathedral, and since, priests were power- 
ful and cruel enough to people all dungeons 
which they knew of, and build others. 

Of the cathedral, I recollect little more 
than that it is a large church, and had a 
painting of Santa Agatha, which made her 
very beautiful. It is astonishing what a 
love the populace bear this saint ; her pic- 
tures and images are everywhere multiplied, 
and to the pleasing expression of many of 
these, little as they would bear criticism, 
you cannot refuse an assenting glance. Her 
statue is erected on a column not far from 
the mole, overlooking a vast bed of lava, 
whose course they believe her to have 
stopped or turned. She rivals the Ma- 
donna of modern Sicily ; and recalls to you 
the Ceres of the ancient. There are two 
drives, one along the mole, and one to the 
eastward of the town, from both of which 
you look on masses of black lava, huge, 



252 CATANIi\. 

dark, and terrific in the extreme. Small 
patches here and there are planted with 
the prickly pear, which forces itself through 
the rock, and will assist its decomposition. 
For the other scenery you have fields and 
gardens smiling on some more ancient 
flow of molten lava which has passed its ages 
as rock, and is now a rich soil. You have 
the broad and swelling base of Etna, clad 
with a rich garment of God's giving, and 
above, the awful brow of that high moun- 
tain from whence he has poured down his 
wrath, and still menaces in mercy, that 
man may not forget the Mighty Being who 
preserves and blesses him, and asks but the 
loving and confiding hearts of those, whom 
with a breath he made, and can destroy. 

It was the late evening hour, just as the 
sun had set, while the carriages of the Si- 
cilian nobles and their ladies were pacing 
slowly along the crowded Corso, that I 
mounted my mule, and set forth to visit 
Etna. I passed through the busy scene, 
and heard chatting, and laughter, and saw 



CATANIA. 25S 

the white robes and scarfs of women, and 
the brows of men sitting uncovered by 
their sides. 

The road to Nicolosi is a narrow one, of 
bad, broken pavement, ascending and de- 
scending between walls, past cottages, 
through small towns, and before the gates 
of churches. It was that hour, when the 
poor sit at their doors and forget the toil 
of the day past, and of the morrow too. 

It was near ten o'clock when the youth 
who led the way stopped before a small 
dark cottage in a by-lane of Nicolosi, the 
guide's he said it was, and hailed them. 
The door was opened ; a light struck ; and 
the family was roused, and collected round 
me; a grey-headed old peasant and his wife ; 
two hardy, plain, dark young men, brothers 
(one of whom was in his holiday gear, new 
breeches, and red garters, and flowered 
waistcoat, and clean shirt, and shining but- 
tons) ; a girl of sixteen, handsome ; a 
" mountain-girl beaten with winds," look- 
ing curious, yet fearless and " chaste as 
the hardened rock on which she dwelt ;" 



254 CATANIA. 

and a boy of twelve, an unconscious figure 
in the group, fast slumbering in his clothes 
on the hard floor. Glad were they of the 
dollar-bringing stranger,, but surprised at 
the excellenza's fancy for coming at that 
hour ; cheerfully, however, the gay youth 
stripped off his holiday-garb, and put on a 
dirty shirt and thick brown clothes, and took 
his cloak and went to borrow a mule (for 
I found, by their consultation, that there 
was some trick, this not being the regular 
privileged guide family). During his ab- 
sence, the girl brought me a draught of 
wine, and all stood round with welcoming 
and flattering laughings, and speeches in 
Sicilian, which I did not understand, but 
which gave me pleasure, and made me 
look on their dirty and crowded cottage as 
one I had rather trust to, if I knocked at 
it even without a dollar, than the lordliest 
mansion of the richest noble in Sicily. 

For about four miles, your mule stum- 
bles along safely over a bed of lava, lying 
in masses on the road ; then you enter the 
woody region : the wood is open, of oaks. 



ETNA. 255 

not large, yet good-sized trees, growing 
amid fern ; and, lastly, you come out on a. 
soft barren soil, and pursue the ascent till 
you find a glistering white crust of snow of 
no depth, cracking under your mule's 
tread ; soon after, you arrive at a stone 
cottage, called Casa Inglese*, of which my 
guide had not got the key ; here you dis- 
mount, and we tied up our mules close by, 
and scrambling over huge blocks of lava, 
and up the toilsome and slippery ascent of 
the cone, I sat me down on ground all hot, 
and smoking with sulphureous vapour, 
which has for the first few minutes the 
effect of making your eyes smart, and 
water, of oppressing and taking away your 
breath. It yet wanted half an hour to the 
break of day, and I wrapped my cloak close 
round me to guard me from the keen air, 
which came up over the white cape of snow 

* It was built by our officers while the British army 
lay in Sicily for the benefit of their own excursion-par- 
ties at the time, and substantially done as a gift of con- 
venience to all after-travellers. 



that lay spread at the; foot of the smoking 
cone, where I was seated, n^ n -.a- , 

The earliest daw.a gaye to ,my view the 
awful crater, with its two deep mouths, 
from one, whereof, there, issued large vo- 
lumes of thick white smoke, pressing up in 
closely crowding . clouds^ i and \ all .around, 
you saw the earth loose, and with crisped, 
yellow-moutlied small cracks, up which 
came little, light, thin wreathes of smoke 
that soon dissipatedrin the upper; air^; 

This mountain, 

" Her hollow womb 
Conceiving thunders, through a thousand deeps 
And fiery caverns," ' ' ' ,< .^- ;f* 

which crumbles to your tread, ^nd burns 
the shoe upon you^tv foot, do you not fear 
it? or the God who made it? there does 
not beat that human heart, which , here 
alone at the dim grey hour of dawn should 
answer iVb, — but, when you feel yourself 
earthly, an atom, yet with a soul aspiring 
to follow the pale stars, which, fading, leave 



ETNA. 257 

you : it is an awe, holy, not slavish, be- 
gotten of a love which cannot cast out fear, 
belonging to a consciousness of deep un- 
worthiness and base ingratitude to the God, 
who, in mercy, did reveal himself to a lost 
and perishing world ; and when you turn 
to gaze downwards and see the golden sun 
come up in light and majesty to bless the 
waking milHons of your fellows, and the 
dun vapours of the night roll off below, 
and capes, and hills, and towns, and the 
wide ocean are seen as through a thin un- 
earthly veil ; your eyes fill, and your heart 
swells ; all the blessings you enjoy, all the 
innocent pleasures you find in your wan- 
derings, that preservation, which in storm, 
and in battle, and mid the pestilence, was 
mercifully given to your half-breathed 
prayer, all rush in a moment on your soul ; 
silent you are, but your translated silence 
would be, " Lord depart from me, for I am 
a sinful man." 

After a time I went down to the Casa 
Inglese, reposed on the step before the 
door, and shared with my guide some re- 



258 ETNA. 

freshment. While sitting here, a foreigner 
came up with another guide, a boy. They 
had brought the key ; however, I had 
breakfasted, and did not go in further than 
to look at its wooden couches and beds of 
leaves. The stranger was a German, in 
plain clothes ; but I suspected him to be an 
Austrian officer : he half confessed as much. 
He soon left me to go on to the summit of 
the cone, regretting that he had not timed 
his visit better. He was a polite, cordial 
man, as you generally find the German 
travellers, but I was glad when he went on, 
and left me. 

At this elevation the line of the horizon, 
which becomes vastly extended, produces 
a wonderful and strange effect, making 
many of the distant hills appear as though 
they mingled with or were clouds. 

I rode past the philosopher's tower ; and 
thence, slowly down the mountain. Just be- 
fore we entered on the woody region where 
there is a little fern, and furze, and coarse 
herbage, we saw some goats, and a shep- 
erd playing on a bagpipe ; and in that 



EINA. 259 

scene, with the wide mountain-plain and 
open air to take from its rude harshness, 
he made music to the ear. Just as we 
passed forth from the woody region, clouds, 
which had been for the last hour gathering, 
enveloped the mountain's top, and hung 
over the woody region, and it began to 
lighten, and to thunder loudly. I thought 
upon the German above, and while I envied 
hira, was yet glad that he should see the 
next finest thing to the sun-rising, namely, 
a thunder-storm at his feet. 

First, a big drop or two, and then the 
shower, in its strength, caught us. I urged 
my jaded mule, but what between the 
length of the way and, just here, the bad- 
ness of the road, I could not escape it. 1 
did not go to the convent of Nicolosi, but 
on to the village ; there, in my guide's cot- 
tage, I found coarse clean sheets spread on a 
straw mattress ; vessels of water ; some fruit, 
and wine, and bread. I gave them direc- 
tions to feed my mule and call me in three 
short hours, and for that time I profound- 
ly slept ; then up, and rode back to Catania, 

s 2 



260 ETNA. 

through scenes of the most luxuriant plenty 
— vines and fruit-trees at every step. As 
the sun again set I came to the city ; I 
alighted just at the entrance, on a hill above 
it, and, sending forward my mule, sat down 
to enjoy the scene ; then, as it grew dusk, 
walked slowly through the crowded Corso, 
and as I looked up at the handsome cheer- 
ful-looking houses on either side, and as 
I reflected that this beautiful city was built 
of and upon lava, I could not help exclaim- 
ing with an author I know not, whose poem 
I saw once in a newspaper in India — 

** Man builds, and time destroys ; man labours on, 
As if that slow-consuming power to mock, 
And the dire throes that, ever and anon. 
Shake the great frame of nature, and unlock 
Her solid joints with unexpected shock, 
"Deter him not ; his labour he renews. 
Even o'er the force that lifts the fluid rock 
In molten streams, a moment may diffuse 
O'er all that with an eye of pride or love he views." 

My companions I had separated from 
two days before this my visit to the moun- 
tain, they visiting it and passing on from 



ETNA. 261 

Nicolosi towards Messina. I had proposed, 
at the time I first mentioned to them my 
intention to travel more leisurely, and alone, 
to have visited the temples of Girgenti, 
which, however, I did not accompKsh. I 
shall long look back with pleasure; and with 
a sense of real benefit to my mind, on the 
quiet harmony of more than eight months 
passed constantly in their valued society ; 
but I know not that, from a mere child, I 
had ever before been so long debarred the 
luxury of solitude : scenes there are that 
should not be visited in parties, — Etna is 
one, — or, at all events, if we do take a com- 
panion he must be, and must have long 
been, the companion of our heart and mind. 
A friendship, however, we did form, of that 
nature which must supply to wandering sol- 
diers that interchange of good fellowship 
and kind feeling which the settled domestic 
man continually enjoys among the regular 
and chance neighbours of his country 
dwelling. 

Before I left Catania I visited the museum 
of prince Biscari, which is well worthy the 

s 3 



262 ETNA. 

attention of the stranger ; but I did not see 
it at my leisure or to advantage. A Signor 
Recupero has a very precious cabinet of 
medals, one of the finest and best arranged 
of any individual in Europe. He himself, 
or his son, a clever man of thirty, will 
always show them with great politeness. I 
went, but am free to confess, that I feel all 
the pain and the confusion of ignorance 
before all acknowledged lords of virtu and 
high-caste antiquarians. Young Signor Re- 
cupero was very obliging and patient, mis- 
taking me, I believe, for one of a taste in that 
line. True it is, that, with a few medals 
before me, which the learned have already 
deciphered, and when I have no man to 
overlook and smile at me, I can enjoy them 
as toys for the mind. The historian alone 
can be said to have higher uses for them. 

I visited the beautiful church of the con- 
vent of St. Julian, and looked at the gilded 
gratings of the painted prison with regret ; 
happier far were the numerous females of 
the lower classes, whom I found singing 
and winding off a glossy straw-coloured silk 



TAORMINA. 263 

in the two large manufactories of that arti- 
cle established here, than these high-born 
vestals. 

Catania, in all its features, is a very inte- 
resting place, and one where I could have 
passed months instead of days. 

The road to Messina runs, for about four 
miles, over a dark barren bed of rocky lava, 
but the base, or rather the breast of Etna, 
is continually in sight on your left. White 
dwellings, green trees, here and there the 
broader and loftier front of a country cha- 
pel, surmounted with its black cross ; and 
all these objects lying in the sunny bosom 
of one vast vineyard. 

I slept at the little fishing village which 
lies at the foot of Taormina ; and, while 
they prepared my supper walked up, with 
the son of my hostess, to visit the ruins. It 
contains an ancient reservoir dry, but per- 
fectly preserved ; a noble work, and the 
smallest of the five with which, under the 
Roman government, this city was adorned. 
It is situated in a vineyard, the dresser of 
which gave me a bunch of purple grapes of 

s 4 



264 TAORMINA. 

such size and flavour that it might, in 
former times, have been laid upon the altar 
of Bacchus himself. There is also a ruin 
called a Naumachia, whereof only one long 
wall is remaining ; there is a thriving olive 
garden in what may have been its basin. 
But the pride of Tauromenium once, and 
of its poor inhabitants to this hour, is a 
theatre, built where the eye immediately 
satisfies itself that the rude and early drama 
was represented by some wandering actors 
to crowds of its more ancient and simple 
inhabitants, long before brick and marble, 
veils, and saffron showers were known to 
them. The remains of the theatre are 
very considerable ; the outer wall ; the 
scene ; with lateral chambers, probably for 
the movable decorations ; and the vacant 
niches for the numerous statues which once 
adorned it, may all be seen with a glance. 
Its admirable adaptation for conveying 
sounds you may also be satisfied of by'hear- 
ing the voice of your cicerone from the 
stage, while you are seated at the farther 
end of the theatre. By the way, he will 



TAORMINA. 965 

make you a terrible long speech, if you do 
not stop him, as I did, at the third line ; an 
uttered word, or the tearing of a. small piece 
of paper is enough. But the site of this 
ruin captivated me : I know of none more 
romantically situated ; and this is saying 
much, when we reflect how attentive the 
ancients were to this particular, and how 
magnificent are the views which, from 
almost all the ancient theatres I have ever 
seen, you may command. It stands very 
high, in a small natural theatre, little larger 
than itself, which only half conceals it, with 
a tine screen of rock, broken and pointed 
in a most picturesque manner. You have, 
at your feet, a httle cliff-protected bay, with- 
out cot or boat ; raising your eyes, the 
straits of Messina are before you; turn- 
ing, you have the southernmost cape of 
Calabria and the Ionian sea ; below, a sweet 
village; the citadel of Taormina, as you turn 
again, is not an unpleasing object; that of 
the little town of Mola hung, like an eagle's 
nest, on a dizzy steep above, far above ; and 
then, far away, a broad vale, smiling with 



'266 TAORMTNA. 

men's habitations, and the gifts and fruits 
which bless them ; and in the distance, yet 
close to you, Etna, belted with wood, with 
a lofty yet spreading summit ; here white 
with snow, there dark with its ashes, and 
breathing forth smoke like unto altars on a 
high place. 

I lingered till the sun set, and then 
accompanied my guide down to the village ; 
he bearing a handkerchief full of ice in 
straw, for cooling the signor's wine. I 
wished him far away, but he was a good- 
tempered young man, and succeeded in 
amusing me. 

" The signer does not speak Italian as I 
have heard some English travellers." — 
" Why, friend, I never learned it, and only 
know how to ask my way." — " O the 
signor makes himself well understood ; 
but I thought all English learned Italian." 
— " Not all,'' — " What a pity ! it is 
so musical ;" and then he sung. " But 
how comes it that the signor has no books 
with him ?" — " Books, what books ? and 
what for ?" — " O, big books about the 



TAORMINA. 267 

ruins, and the Romans ! Why, your coun- 
trymen come here with large books, and 
they look, and compare, and ask me many 
Questions, and then they write down my 
answers, and many of them know as much 
about the ruins as I do ; and some of them 
speak the Greco-Sicilian, which even I 
cannot." — " Ah, friend, those are our 
learned men, who are well-educated, and 
have leisure, money, and libraries." — 
" Then is the sign or a gentleman, and 
has he learned Latin?" — "Yes, friend, 
a soldier." — " Oh, ah ! a soldier, now 
/ take [capisco). The English are good 
sailors, are they not ? and the French 
the best soldiers?" Now he thought that 
beauty should be the theme, and accord- 
ingly he asked if we had fair ladies, any 
that could compare with the Messinese ; 
then sung, and said that youth was the 
season of love (I am not very young) ; 
finally, he asked if 1 could play the guitar, 
(which I cannot,) and, as we had just 
reached the village-church, he led me in to 
see the Madonna dressed out for a feast, 
wath a dozen candles before her, a shrine 



26S TAOIIMINA. 

stuck all over with artificial flowers, and all 
the old women of the place, with a sprink- 
ling of young ones, a crowd of ragged boys, 
and a few men kneeling before it. 

At length I reached my rustic inn, and 
having given him a present, which secured 
me as thankful a bow as if I had been fel- 
low of all the antiquarian societies in 
Europe, was left delighted and alone. 

The chambers of these rude inns would 
please, at first, any one. Three or four 
beds, (mere planks upon iron trestles,) with 
broad, yellow-striped, coarse mattresses, 
turned up on them ; a table and chairs of 
wood, blackened by age, and of forms be- 
longing to the past century ; a daub or two 
of a picture, and two or three coloured 
prints of Madonnas and saints ; a coarse 
table-cloth, and coarser napkin ; a thin, 
blue-tinted drinking glass ; dishes and 
plates of a striped, dirty-coloured, pimply 
ware ; and a brass lamp with three mouths, 
a shape common to Delhi, Cairo, and Ma- 
drid, and as ancient as the time of the 
Etruscans themselves. 



TAORMINA, . 269 

To me it had another charm ; it brought 
Spain before me, the peasant and his cot, 
and my chance billets among that loved 
and injured people. Ah ! I will not dwell 
on it ; but this only I will venture to say, 
they err greatly, grossly, who fancy that the 
Spaniard, the most patiently brave and re- 
solutely persevering man, as a man, on the 
continent of Europe, will wear long any 
yoke he feels galling and detestable. 

Enough of this. — They bring you in a 
regular travellers' book, with the names of 
all visitors ; and I did, what I dare to say 
many a lone wanderer does, I read them 
through ; I saw in the long list but one 
name, which I knew, that of a widower, for 
whom, though I never saw him, I could 
deeply, truly feel. I recollect her whom 
he has lost, when, at fair eighteen, her 
eyes and her soft voice were such as the 
painter and the poet give to angels ; and 
she was good, most gently good. And 
such things die ! Why then let us walk 
on to the grave, with eyes always fixed on 
Him, who disappoints it of its victory. 



270 MESSINA. 

The road to Messina borders the blue 
sea ; and chfFs and cottages, a high-perched 
town or two, a jutting, castellated rock, a 
cluster or two of fishing-huts, and some 
large villages, are on your path. For the 
last six miles you pass between high walls, 
which enclose vineyards and large country- 
houses, so that the view is shut from you, 
save here and there, at an opening, a full 
feast of scenic beauty is spread before you. 

I was detained some days at Messina, a 
place of uncommon features; its sickle- 
shaped harbour, its wide marino, its noble 
half-finished buildings, its forts and castles, 
vine-covered hills, elegant little casinos, 
classic straits, and the magnificent range of 
the Calabrian mountains opposite, with 
their gloriously varying lights and shadows, 
might furnish materials for rich description. 
I enjoyed, and shall never forget, but I can- 
not describe them. I rambled about, seeing 
nothing and everything, sighing or smiling 
as it might be ; more than once I caught 
myself leaning over a wall, and looking 



MESSINA. 271 

into a garden at a casino happily inhabited, 
and half uttering 

" Oh, that for me some home like this would smile !'* 

Then came up the image of Southampton 
water, in its forest bed, and the grey ruins 
of Netley Abbey looking reproach upon 
me, and mountains and lakes, vales and 
rivers, from Cumberland and Wales, came 
crowding on, in fair and friendly visions ; 
and then I climbed a hill to look upon the 
sea, and think upon my country. 

They are a cheerful, joyous people at 
Messina : I saw them crowding round the 
cocagna, so managed as not to be dan- 
gerous, and looked upon their delighted 
and expressive faces, and heard their clear, 
free laughings. I often, too, saw groups of 
grown children, dancing and singing in the 
cool of the evening to the tambourine, 
which they play at the same moment, and 
very graceful are their movements. Their 
costume is not remarkable ; it is (in the 
town) bad French : they braid up their 



272 MESSINA. 

shining hair prettily enough : the peasants 
from the country confine it in a net, which 
has an ancient, rustic, picture-like look, 
and they, too, wear little jackets and petti- 
coats of cloth or coloured stuffs, and they 
like, and dispose fancifully, ribbons of the 
brightest colours. But the peasantry in 
Sicily, and, indeed, throughout Italy, if I 
except a few provinces in the north, are 
not for a moment to be compared, as a pic- 
turesque-dressed peasantry, to the Spa- 
niards. However, though as a sketcher 
I speak thus, and though I delight to look 
upon things which bring old times, and 
forms, and fashions, to my curious eye, and 
which so generally please, yet I know, that 
as a people increase in knowledge, posses- 
sion, happiness, honest hopes, and permit- 
ted pride, all the growth of freedom^ they 
love to put off the garbs which would mark 
them as feudal or liveried slaves ; and 
hence it is, that in our country churches 
we see the coarse but cleanly imitations of 
the general dress of the middling and upper 



MESSINA. 273 

classes, by all whose age, or services, or lit- 
tle purse, will allow them, for the Sabbath, 
to lay by the working frock. 

Now I by no means pretend to say that 
either Sicilians or Neapolitans are a whit 
freer in reality, or so much so, perhaps, in 
sincere desire, as the Spaniard ; but they 
have been in contact with, and just brushed 
by, the wing of improvement ; and where- 
ever a man goes now, he may clearly see 
that the seed of a better order of things is 
sown : I know tares will spring up with the 
wheat, and difficult will be the tasks of states- 
men : happy you and I, who have nothing 
to do but look on, find fault with them 
when they do not please us, and drink their 
health in bumpers when they do. By the 
way, the wines of Sicily and Calabria are 
excellent ; in general, I found the wines of 
Italy, even at good inns, very inferior to 
those at the most common posadas of 
Sicily. 

I sailed from Messina in a Neapolitan 
vessel : nothing could be more promising 
than the weather; we passed down, and 



274 MESSINA. 

out, leaving Scylla and Charybdis far be- 
hind us ; but the wind changed, and the sky 
lowered, and our captain put back. The 
next morning we sailed again. I was not 
sorry for the delay : to have thrice passed 
the Pharos, — to have seen the sun shining 
on the rock of Scylla,— and to have seen it 
in shadow, and the coasts of Sicily and 
Calabria to great advantage from the ves- 
sel's deck, — gave me pleasure. 

The vessel was crowded and dirty, with 
many passengers, pale, sick, and frightened: 
one fine fellow, a Neapolitan officer, formed 
a very remarkable contrast to them : he was 
returning to Naples, he told me, dismissed 
now, though spared at first, as a man of 
liberal sentiments. He represented himself 
as having been long a captain in the ma- 
rine artillery ; and I must say, he wore 
about him the stamp of worth : his look 
and tone were honest — his complaints were 
never concerning himself : the state of his 
country seemed to be uppermost in his 
mind : the language of vulgar invective and 
coarse abuse of that government, and those 



MESSINA. 275 

councils under which he suffered, never 
escaped him ; and he was free to censure 
the idleness, the apathy, and the insensi- 
bility to noble sentiments, of the major 
part of his countrymen. He had a copy of 
Dante with him, and told me he never 
moved without it, and found in the pe- 
rusal of it a solace for half his woes. I 
could well understand the feeling, though 
I never read Dante. We saw the moun- 
tain isle of Stromboli to great advantage •* 
we had also a night of big rain, and that 
terrifically-rattling thunder frequent in these 
climes 5 then a day of clear lovely weather, 
and a scene off Capri, such as we see not 
many in our lives ; and yet in man's feeble 
colouring of pen or pencil a mere nothing. 

Provoked I was as the afternoon wore 
away, and the wind fell, to see that we 
could not enter the bay of Naples before 
dark, and should, probably, pass in at 
midnight, and lose a splendid spectacle ; 
but while I walked the deck, half-pettish, 
like a disappointed child, the sun declined ; 
in the broad path of his rays the sea her 

T 2 



216 NAPLES. 

came as molten gold ; and Capri, as it inter- 
vened, looked a dark blue mass of cliff-like 
clouds ; and the more so, as there is a chasm, 
or rude arch, fantastically pierced through 
it by the hand of nature, which gave to view 
the reddening sky beyond. 

It was not till the day broke that we 
passed into the bay ; and we were six hours, 
gliding with the gentlest of airs, before we 
reached the harbour and came to anchor. 

In many things in Italy the traveller the 
least sanguine, and the most chastised, is 
doomed to disappointment — on the very 
shore he is ; yet all that has been sung, and 
written, and said of the bay of Naples, to 
me, on whom it burst in the freshness of 
morning and fulness of its beauty, seemed 
but faintly expressive of the scene. 

After this, it were a pitiful presumption 
in me to pen a word ; only this I should 
say, it has often fallen to my lot to hear it 
compared to the bay of Dublin : I, who 
always admired the bay of Dublin, and 
always shall, could discover no features of 
resemblance — to me, all was new ; a blend- 



NAPLES. 277 

ing of grandeur and of softness ; of white 
and crowded dwellings ; of sheltered and 
still retreats ; of sunny cheerfulness and 
green repose ; of shadowy shores and shin- 
ing waters ; and white sails glancing and glit- 
tering like joyous sea-birds on the wing ; 
in gayPosilipo, and smiling Portici, and dark 
Vesuvius ; in the lofty hills of Sorrentum 
and the rugged Capri — the features were 
new, and marked by beauties all their 
own. 

He who travels from England by the 
ordinary route, seeing Milan, Florence, and 
Rome on his way, may greatly enjoy all 
that is beautiful and new in this interesting 
capital ; but he cannot feel that delight 
which grew out of the circumstances under 
which I had the fortune to visit it. For 
twenty years, a visit to Italy had been to 
me a day-dream — a castle in the air; and 
when I sailed for the remote and cheerless 
service of an Indian garrison, it was among, 
and not the least bitter of, my idle regrets 
that I might never see this country ; and it 
came, the coveted opportunity; and after 

T 3 



278 NAPLES. 

crossing sea and desert, and through a land 
of turbaned strangers, here I stood in my 
path homewards, on a shore unequalled, 
even in Italy, for loveliness. 

I was soon lodged most comfortably, and 
served throughout my stay with that perfect 
cleanliness and quiet unobtrusive attention, 
which are to the Englisli citizen of the 
world very contenting. 

The first thing which always attracts me 
is the aspect of the people. 

All that has been said about the Mole 
of Naples, the crowds upon it, and the 
vast and comic variety of exhibition, cos- 
tume, character, and occupation it pre- 
sents, has either been very highly coloured, 
or is only remarkable during certain sea- 
sons of festival, or perhaps has been some- 
what changed by the presence of an order- 
ly, but stern and gloomy, garrison of Aus- 
trian s. The costume of the sailors, who form 
a chief portion of the crowd, is a coarse 
shirt and trowsers, a waistcoat, sometimes 
a jacket hanging over the arm, a sash 
round the middle, and a cap (in fashion 



NAPLES. 279 

like a long night-cap) of either red or 
brown : this cap, as they sometimes wear 
it, with its top falling a little forwards, not 
hanging down, resembles the Phrygian bon- 
net *, so they say, at leasts and, indeed, 
it evidently does so ; and this is the only 
costume any way remarkable, if I except 
that of some women of the lower class, who 
may be seen on the quays, seated at their 
stalls, and who wear velveteen jackets and 
bodices, and large ear-rings and necklaces 
of gilt metal. 

For the exhibitions and occupations — I 
have seen the polichinello with his crowd, 
and the reader with his audience ; the 
macaroni stall, the fruit-seller, the water- 
seller, all surrounded by their customers ; 
the barber's open shop, and, in fact, all 
which others have seen. One of the readers 
amused me most ; he was a man of about 
fifty, of a worn-out dissipated appearance ; 

* I dare say it seldom enters the head of even an anti- 
quarian, as arranging his own night-cap in this manner, 
he takes a last look in the glass before he pops the extin- 
guisher on his candle, that he is quite classic in costume. 

T 4 " 



280 NAPLES. 

his dress was that of Tag; in fact, they 
never had, in either of our green-rooms, a 
black coat so richly rusted, or so ingeniously 
tacked together. He sate upon one form, 
and had three others so placed as to form 
a square round him, all these were filled, 
and behind stood a throng about four deep; 
they were very intent; his posture was that 
of careless superiority, his right leg crossed 
over his left, and dangling as he read ; 
spectacles on nose, and his eyes fixed on 
the manuscript-book, held at arm's length 
in his left hand, while his ric^ht was con- 
tinually raised and waving with action the 
most energetic. The punch speaks always 
in the Neapolitan dialect ; and they have 
a theatre, a small one, in which you may, 
any evening, see the best representation of 
this kind which Naples can boast ; ' the 
people evidently take great delight in it ; 
a Neapolitan sat by me, translating to his 
best ; a foreigner cannot enter into it further 
than feel pleased to hear real, hearty, un- 
affected laughing all around him. Blunders, 
blows, the ubiquity of poor punch, the 



NAPLES. 281 

personating two different characters^ the 
making of coarse love, and, above all, the 
snuffling tone of voice of an old man, in a 
wig, the pantaloon of their drama or farce, 
are the features of the entertainment. All 
this is given, in a less way, at two or three 
polichinello stages on the Mole. But I 
must say the scenes here bear no compari- 
son for lively interest with those on the 
quays of the Seine at Paris. One thing, 
however, cannot fail to impress the stranger 
pleasingly ; there is an air of indolent 
good humour on every countenance; I say 
pleasingly, because you are glad to see 
that poverty, hopeless poverty, or careless 
if you will, can so cheat care, that the 
barefoot, houseless wretch upon the Mole 
can run the race of enjoyment with the 
wealthiest slave in Naples. A few grains 
are lightly earned between sunrise and 
early noon — a platter-full of macaroni ; a 
glass of water iced ; a scratching in the 
sun ; a sleep in the shade ; a poem listened 
to; a puppet show ; a ballad; punch; a 
Calabrian bagpipe; a slice of water-melon; 



282 NAPLES. 

perhaps the luxury of a segar ; and then, if 
the moon does not shine, a crowding of 
some twenty together into a lower hall 
or cloistered court, or, if they have a grain 
to spare, a hh'ed chamber between them. 
Such are the Neapolitan poor. What they 
might be, I had a good opportunity of 
seeing the very day I landed. I remarked a 
man plying in a boat ; himself and his boat 
patterns of sailor-like cleanliness ; a fine- 
spoken, respectfully free, manly, handsome 
seaman. He had served six years in the 
British navy, and, though he told me, I am 
vexed that I have forgotten the frigate he 
named ; whatever it was, he had been 
kindly treated, not trodden down as a 
foreigner and a slave, but lifted to the 
knowledge and consciousness that he was 
a man ; feeling a respect for himself, and, 
what invariably follows, for all things and 
persons ^vorthy to be respected. 

However, enough ; let us drive up the 
Strada Toledo. The hackney-coach of 
Naples is an open barouche, neatly painted, 
decently horsed, and rapidly driven. The 



NAPLES, 283 

coachman is generally a respectable looking 
man ; and there is a lively-featured young 
urchin behind to attend the step. The 
numbers and the noise of the carriages in 
Naple surprise — there is nothing at all like 
it in any other city in Italy : nobody that can 
ride, even in a shell-like cabriolet, with a 
dirty fellow standing behind and cracking 
the whip over their heads, walks. The 
Strada Toledo is a fine one; long, lofty, 
broad, for Naples; good shops, French 
windows, balconies, cafes, and well-dressed 
men sitting in them. 

The square of the palace fine, and the 
front of the palace princely, with Neapoli- 
tan guards in scarlet clothing. The quarter 
of Santa Lucia is handsome, and many of the 
palaces of the nobles have a rich, elegant 
appearance. The principal drive in the 
evening is along the Chiaja, and the walk 
the Villa Reale, or Royal Garden. My 
first evening I took a drive along that shore 
or quay : you see carriages, and women 
sitting in them, and by their sides pale 
men ; and you meet Austrian officers on 



284 NAPLES. 

horseback, and every hundred yards you see 
an Austrian guard in their white uniforms, 
looking, what they are, the lords of Naples, 
On the morning after I arrived, there 
was a service performed in the church of 
St. Giacomo, in the Largo de Castello, in 
honour of Pope Pius VIL, just then de- 
ceased. The church was hung with a 
drapery of white and black, gathered near 
the roof, and falling in long folds, well 
and gracefully disposed ; and on the white 
ground were small pointed bows of black, 
producing the effect of ermine. There was 
Q> large orchestra built up as at our oratorios; 
alid, in the nave of the church, a tomb of 
framework, pasteboard, and paint, with 
eight vases burning round it, such a thing 
as you would expect to see, and do often 
see in a theatre : lights on the altar, and 
disposed in the church, so that daylight was 
excluded. The company was numerous, 
the music excellent ; a mass ; a requiem ; 
a sermon from the nuncio; eulogistic, easy 
to be understood, and energetically de- 
livered. 



NAPLES. 285 

The scene was novel ; Neapolitan ladies 
exceedingly well dressed, with black lace 
veils over their beautiful heads of hair, 
fans, missals, and rosaries in their hands, 
feigning the prettily pious ; men in full 
.dresses ; the public functionaries and civil 
officers in embroidered coats ; numbers of 
military, both Neapolitan and Austrian, 
in uniforms of scarlet, green, and white ; 
priests, monks, and friars ; bishops and 
high vicars in their white satin mitre caps ; 
and youthful sacristans, with eyes wander- 
ings or winking, as they tossed about the 
smoking censers, or bore the flaring torch, 
or stood with the ready vestment : and here 
and there in the crowd a few quiet English 
ladies, with faces hidden under straw bon- 
nets, on which, in honour of poor old Pius, 
a black ribbon had been placed, while the 
gentlemen who attended them, seemed to 
wish the tour well over, and themselves 
restored to their own manly sports in old 
England. 

My host had told me in the morning 
that I had arrived too late at Naples to 



286 NAPLES. 

secure a seat, and should certainly not get 
in. I dressed in a full suit of black, and 
went to a gate, accompanied by a person 
who had some connection with the chiirch, 
but who was of no use at all ; I was giving 
it up in despair, when the Neapolitan officer, 
who with his men was beating back a 
crowd of well-dressed Neapolitans, called 
out for me to advance, and they making 
a passage for me, I passed in, and got an 
excellent place. The person who was to 
have assisted me in getting in stuck close 
to me, and following in my wake, entered 
the church with me ; determined to render 
me some service which should secure a re- 
ward, he left me where I was leaning against 
the wall to the left of a row of well-dressed 
company that were seated, and returning 
with a chair, placed it for me, with the 
most cool and fearless impertinence directly 
before a lady-like woman, whose view would 
thus have been totally intercepted ; she had 
hardly time to remonstrate, save with her 
quick eye, ere I had drawn it back and 
scolded my officious cicerone, who, nowise 



NAPLES. ^87 

abashed, said, " As the signior pleased, but 
there was nothing in it;" and then arranging 
my seat, and observing that I was not one 
to be prated to, he said he would go and 
wait for me without ; for this I rewarded 
him. He was not a valet-de-place, neither 
had I one at Naples ; but any thing more 
pushing and impertinent, than the gene- 
rality of these low-bred cicerones, I could 
not have conceived : they will do all but 
pull a devotee from her knees while show- 
ing you a church, and, if unchecked by you, 
think nothing of taking post directly be- 
tween her and the altar at which she kneels, 
to point out to the loud-treading booted 
traveller some cosa magnijica e bellissima. 
I have seen this many times ; for, go where 
you will, you are sure to meet parties whose 
object, like your own, is the gratification of 
curiosity ; and, of a truth, some of my 
estimable countrymen have strange ways, 
and a sad want of tact, so that if they have 
not produced, they encourage this evil. 

The museum of Naples is rich in objects 
of interest to the stranger. On my first 



288 NAPLES. 

visit to it, I lingered in the gallery of an- 
cient sculpture till the gate closed ; and in 
the course of my short stay, and frequent 
visits to the other apartments of this noble 
institution, I never passed out without 
again hurrying to stand for a while before 
those statues which had won my free admir- 
ation, and remain present to my thoughts. 

How is it that the quarried rock, that 
stuff to which we liken a cold and cruel 
heart, a pale and stiffened corse, can be 
wrought into forms of youth, and grace, 
and female loveliness ? forms still, yet in 
the seeming act to move, — mute, yet with 
lips that would reply in smiles, — and cold, 
and colourless, yet warm and blooming to 
the gazer's fancy. 

If I except some few and very few of the 
chef'd' ceuvres which I had seen before at 
Paris, and visited again at Rome and Flo- 
rence, this collection at Naples, taken as 
a whole, gave me more pleasure than any 
I have ever beheld. 

It were tedious and impertinent to enu- 
merate ; and it were impossible for one 



Naples; £89 

ignorantly contented to admire, to attempt 
descriptions, doubtless already given in all 
the proper set terms of art. 

You find here Bacchus " ever fair and 
young," grouped with Cupid ! you find 
him often again, and once on the shoulder of 
a faun, with the soft and rounded limbs of 
infancy, and the sweet smile of a fondled 
child ! You have more than one Venus of 
brilliant and disturbing beautv ! You have 
forms of men, fairer than man should be, 
especially one exposed, I know not why, as 
if to court the question, who and what wa«S' 
he ? Turn we to Aristides ; Greece, an- 
cient Greece looks to you from his noble 
features ; the attitude, the folded robe, 
all personify the dignity of freedom ; its 
calm majestic worth : I wish the turbaned 
Ottoman were chained at the statue's foot. 

Come hence and gaze on Agrippina ; a 
tyrant's mother, and a Roman matron. She 
sits, as to this hour, those women, whose 
hearts were great> a^d have been broken, 
would sit. On vacancy she looks, and re- 

u 



1 



290 NAPLES. 

clines her form in that extension of natural 
abandonment, which is grace perfect, and 
as it sorrows ever. 

It is quite unnecessary that the catalogue 
should call your attention to a fragment of 
a female form, thought to be a Psyche, 
and attributed to Praxiteles ; none would 
pass it ; the " what," and the " by whom," 
matter little to the admiring stranger when 
they are mere guesses, and cannot aid or 
warm his fancy. It is female beauty in 
form and face, at chaste thirteen. The 
contour of the features, especially the nose, 
elegant ; a something we never see in life. 
There is a very fine Torso near it, guessed 
a Bacchus, and by Phidias. 

The celebrated Hercules astonished, but 
gave me no pleasure. The Hall of Apollo 
is surprising by its richness, but the por- 
phyry, rosso antico, and oriental alabaster, 
produce an effect which I found very un- 
pleasing. Flora, very fine, but immortally 
colossal. The family of the Balbi is looked 
upon with uncommon interest. The eques- 
trian statues of the father and son, especi- 



NAPLES. 291 

ally the latter, are most noble specimens 
of art. The venerable mother, and the 
younger females are remembered by you 
afterwards, as you tread where they trode 
before you. I must stop.? leaving gladiators 
and amazons ; the muse, ana the goddess ; 
the statues of emperors ; and the busts of 
philosophers unnoticed, but not forgotten : 
there is one nameless bust, in the first 
division of this gallery, not surpassed in 
its way by any other in the collection. 

I wanted rest for my mind when I came 
out, and drove to the Villa Reale. It was 
an hour at which no one was to be seen 
there. I paced in the shade, and went to 
the wall, and leaned out to look upon the 
glorious bay ; and in the foreground to 
see the fishers hauling in their nets, and 
singing with lighter hearts than mine ; for, 
at times, though I was by choice travelling 
alone,^ and greatly prefer so to do, solitude 
would, and did oppress me, even to tears. 

In the centre of this garden stands the 
celebrated group of the Toro Farnese. I 
enter not into the details of its mutilation^ 

u 2 



292 NAPLES; 

or how much of it is modern ; it is a no- 
ble, a magnificent monument. I prefer it, 
as seen from the opposite side, to that 
where Dirce is represented, and conclude 
therefore that my taste is bad, as the Anti- 
ope and the young man seated on that side 
are allowedly ancient. The figures of Am- 
phion and Zethus restraining the bull, 
which is all vigour and fierce eagerness, 
are, to my eye (especially the bull), aston- 
ishingly fine. 

It is a pleasant drive to the tomb of 
Virgil, and on through the pierced cavern 
of Posilipo, to the lake of Agnano. The 
tomb may, or may not be Virgil's ; it brings 
him to your mind, his reed, his lyre, — the 
pastoral, and the battle ; and the truest 
picture of passionate love, and man's heart- 
lessness, and woman's shame, and sorrow, 
and despair, ever penned by man. It is a 
rude, plain tomb, [provoMngly swept and 
watered smooth within) ; it hangs just over 
the road where it enters the grotto of Posi- 
lipo, and you may look from it into that 
dark Cimmerian vault. I had not been long 



NAPLES. 293 

there among the tangled brambles which 
are allowed to grow near it on the wall, 
ere I heard the loud, strong voices of shout- 
ing, laughing travellers, and saw one lead- 
ing with an open Vasi, which has a print of 
this tomb ; such a one, as is only to be 
found in this land of contrasts, where the 
arts seem to have risen as high, and fallen 
as low, as they well could. I retreated to 
a seat in the vineyard above, where you 
look down on that unsating view, the bay 
of Naples. 

The drive through the grotto is fine in 
sound, and sight. This vaulted road is 
nearly a third of a mile in length ; narrow 
and lofty is its rocky arch. The horse's 
hoofs strike strong and clear, and, in parts, 
resounding is the rattle of the wheels (think 
then of the brazen car). The people you 
meet have a hue of livid ghastliness if you 
are there at a late hour, and this hue is 
strangely and fearfully contrasted by their 
laugh and smile. You come out on a poor 
little suburb, and then on among vines, 
trained to elms, and hanging in festoons 

u 3 



294 NAPLES* 

from tree to tree. Here I would notice a 
slight disappointment to the traveller. The 
trees are by no means so large, or the fes- 
toons of the vine so richly pictm^esque, as 
some have painted them ; and as I confess 
I expected to find them. Still, there is the 
vine-leaf, and the tendril, and the purple 
grape given man to refresh his toiling 
strength, and gladden his heavy heart ; 
and among your pleasures it is one to find, 
that in all these wine countries, the la- 
bourer is allowed wine*, and often drinks 
far better than the traveller has set before 
him at the albergo reale of many a village 
and town in his journeyings through Italy. 
The lake of Agnano is said to have been 
the crater of a volcano. It was dark and 
still when I saw it ; a very lone spot ; hills 
of lava on all sides, decomposed, and 
covered with some growth of green ; its 
waters are strongly impregnated with min- 
eral substance. It only breeds the croaking 



* The common labourer in Sicily has a regular al- 
lowance of three pints daily. 



NAPLES. 295 

frog ; and near is a small grotto, to which 
the torture of some generations of small 
dogs has given a name, and whither the 
traveller sees one coaxed to faint, recover, 
be fed, patted, and run away. 

In one of my visits to the museum I 
saw their collection of Egyptian antiqui- 
ties, and affected, I suppose, to look at them 
as if I knew something about the matter, 
which I do not. There is a small statue of 
Isis here, very beautiful, and one also of the 
Etruscan Diana; but the collection, in other 
respects, is small and poor to the eye of 
one just returning from that country ; the 
apartment of the bronzes contains some 
very fine specimens : there is a statue of 
Mercury, a drunken fawn, two discoboli, an 
actress, the head of Virgil's horse, some 
small bronzes, a horse from the theatre of 
Herculaneum, two deer admirably delicate, 
and many others, which you see with plea- 
sure : some of the statues have eyes of sil- 
ver ; I do not like the effect. In the papyri 
room I saw them at the tender and slow 
process of unrolling the scorched scrolls ; 

u 4 



296 



NAPLES. 



they were vei7 civil to me, and I walked 
slowlj round the walls, covered with re- 
stored and legible fragments ; here and there 
a word or a line may be read distinctly by 
even the idler's glance. 

I next went into the library, a noble 
room, and a vast collection. I should much 
like to have seen those things which are 
shown here, especially the handwriting of 
Tasso ; I was led as far, and into the apart- 
ment where they are shown. I found 
priests reading, and men looking as if they 
were learned. I was confused at the creak- 
ing of my boots ; I gave the hesitating look 
of a wish, but I ended by a blush, bowed, 
and retired. I passed again into the larger 
apartment, and I felt composed as I looked 
around. Why life, thought I, would be too 
short for any human being to read these 
folios ; but yet, if safe from the pedant's 
frown, one could have a vast library to 
range in, there is little doubt that, with a 
loye of truth, and a thirsting for knowledge, 
the man of middle age, who regretted his 
early closed lexicon, might open it again 



NAPLES. 297 

with delight and profit. While thus mus- 
ing in stamped two travellers, my country- 
men, my bold, brave countrymen — not in- 
tellectual, I could have sworn, or Lavater is 
a cheat — 

" Pride in their port, defiance in their eye :" — 

They strode across to confront the doctors, 
and demand to see those sights to which 
the book directed and the oprinnino; domes- 
tique de place led them. I envied them, 
and yet was angry with them ; however, I 
soon bethought me, such are the men who 
are often sterling characters, true hearts ; 
they will find no seduction in a southern 
sun, but back to the English girl they love 
best, to be liked by her softer nature the 
better for having seen Italy, and taught by 
her gentleness to speak about it pleasingly, 
and prize what they have seen : — such are 
the men whom our poor men like, who are 
generous masters and honest voters, faith- 
ful husbands and kind fathers ; who, if they 
make us smiled at abroad in peace, make us 
feared in war, and any one of whom is worth 



298 NAPLES. 

to his country far more than a dozen mere 
sentimental wanderers. However, I may 
now and then sigh, but never murmur. 

" In vain, said then old Melibee, doe men 
The heavens of their fortune's fault accuse, 
Since they know best what is the best for them, 
For they to each such fortune doe diffuse, 
As they doe know each can most aptly use, 
Sith not that which men covet most is best, 
Nor that thing worst, which men doe most refuse." 

The antiquities found in Herculaneum, 
Pompeii, and other places, but especially in 
the two former, are abundantly curious and 
very interesting. You have bread, and 
fruit, and the honey-comb ; you have vases 
and vessels of ancient glass ; you have can- 
delabra and lamps, sacrificial vessels, com- 
mon utensils for the kitchen, scales and 
Aveights of bronze, and most elegant in 
workmanship and forms ; you have ink- 
stands, and styles, and tablets ; tickets for 
the theatre; the sistrum, cymbals; you 
have essence bottles, and rouge, and metallic 
mirrors, armour and the toys of children, 
the bells for distant browsing cattle, horse 



NAPLES. 299 

furniture, little figures of their household 
gods, dice, and bells to strike the hour. It 
came, unthought of came, and none re- 
mained to strike upon the bell. Among 
these objects you linger delightfully and 
long; everything you touch or examine 
has its little history, which none can tell, 
but fancy may not greatly err in painting. 

The collection of sepulchral vases is large, 
splendid, and admirably arranged ; and to 
that man, whose mind retains all classical 
recollections strong and fresh, they must 
be highly interesting ; even I, who for 
eighteen years have not seen those noble 
productions of the Greek tragic writers, the 
repositories of so much that is affecting in 
the history of the human heart ; but can 
yet remember something of their sorrow- 
ing music, which, even in a school-boy's 
struggles with his task, broke upon me — 
even I, as I was alone, ventured to pause, 
and look, admire, then, being told the subject, 
look again. 

The gallery of paintings is not so remark- 
able, as compared to those at Rome, Flo- 



300 NAPLES. 

rence, or Bologna. Yet are there some 
pictures from the hand of Raphael, Dome- 
nichino, Titian, and other of the great 
masters. One of Raphael's — a Madonna, 
EHzabeth, St. John, and the Saviour, is 
truly beautiful ; and one of Domenichino's 
lastingly impressed me — an angel, a child, 
a demon. The angel is represented youth- 
ful, his hair in thick and clustering curls ; 
his face fair, his form rounded ; his large, 
dark, and powerful wings half spread, but 
not for flight ; a child, not free from terror 
or from tears, with his little hands lifted 
and joined as in prayer, stands under this 
broad wing, and looks up to heaven, whither 
the calm angel points ; the demon stoops 
beneath ; hatred and hell are in his gaze. 
The angel has the look which sixteen sum- 
mers give to ripening man ; but, observe 
him well, such look ne'er grew from child- 
hood, ne'er decayed with age. It is not 
beautiful, but calm, and passionless, and 
pure ; the heavenly light of mercy is on his 
radiant form ; the power of the avenging 
whirlwind in his dark strong wing ; the 



NAPLES. 301 

child, the object of his shielding care, has 
no ringlets, no graces, no comeliness ; he is 
onlj represented as a common homely little 
child, terrified and helpless. Such a picture 
is too full for comment ; it might hang in a 
nursery, and in after life the child become a 
man, and, struggling vainly with sin and 
sorrow, might think, perhaps, upon the 
guardian angel, and ask a willing Mediator 
to grant the shelter of that angel's wing. 
I thought not, at the first glance, so highly 
of this picture, but, as the subject power- 
fully struck me, I came again and again to 
study it. It is a volume. Domenichino is 
a noble master. There is a fine Magdalen 
by Guercino, and a St. John by Leonardo da 
Vinci. But I have dwelt too long on these 
pictures : there are many of great merit ; 
and really volumes have been thought — 
more, doubtless, than ever were or could be 
written on the paintings of Italy. 

Always on quitting the museum it is a 
relief to drive somewhere, that you may re- 
lieve the mind and refresh the sight with a 
view of earth and ocean. The view from 



302 NAPLES. 

the Belvedere, in the garden of St. Martino, 
close to the fortress of St. Elmo, is said to 
be unequalled in the world. I was walking 
along the cloister to it, when T heard voices 
behind me, and saw an English family — 
father, mother, with daughter and son, of 
drawing-room and university ages. I turn- 
ed aside that I might not intrude on them, 
and went to take my gaze when they came 
away from the little balcony ; I saw no fea- 
tures ; but the dress, the gentle talking, and 
the quietude of their whole manner, gave me 
great pleasure. A happy domestic English 
family ; parents travelling to delight, im- 
prove, and protect their children ; younger 
ones at home, perhaps, who will sit next 
summer on the shady lawn and listen, as 
Italy is talked over, and look at prints, and 
turn over a sister's sketch-book, and beg a 
brother's journal. Magically varied is the 
grandeur of the scene — the pleasant city ; 
its broad bay ; a little sea that knows no 
storms ; its garden neighbourhood ; its 
famed Vesuvius, not looking either vast, or 
dark, or dreadful — all bright and smiling, 



NAPLES. 303 

garmented with vineyards below, and its 
brow barren, yet not without a hue of that 
ashen or slaty blueness which improves a 
mountain's aspect; and far behind, stretched 
in their full bold forms, the shadowy Ap- 
penines. Gaze and go back, English ; 
Naples, with all its beauties and its plea- 
sures, its treasury of ruins, and recollec- 
tions, and fair works of art : its soft music 
and balmy airs cannot make you happy ; 
may gratify the gaze of taste, but never suit 
the habits of your mind. There are many 
homeless solitary Englishmen who might 
sojourn longer in such scenes, and be 
soothed by them ; but to become dwellers, 
settled residents, would be, even for them, 
impossible. 

The church of the Certosini is rich in 
every way, but Spagnoletto has adorned it 
in a manner which secures a long, long 
reign to the memory of his genius ; his 
prophets are fine paintings, but his dead 
Christ, with the Madonna, the Magdalene, 
and St. John, forms a picture, of which, 
when the detail is lost to the mind, much 



304 ^FAI»LES. 

must always be remembered ; the clasped 
hands, and pale uplifted face of the mother, 
bespeak a sorrow so deep, that it would be 
despair, but for all those sayings which she 
had treasured up in her heart. An asto- 
nishing performance — gloom deeper than 
funereal — death, perfect, clayey, dull, cold. 
The Virgin mother knew his kingdom was 
not of this world ; but she had loved the 
form she suckled, the voice which spake to 
her, the Son who was submitted to her, the 
Man of Sorrows, the gentle Sufferer on the 
Cross, and the lifeless body before her, still 
she loved. 

And the agonized heart of the human 
mother is wondrously conceived, and faith- 
fully pourtrayed. It is the common com- 
plaint of all travellers, that the sameness 
and repetition of subjects in the pictures of 
Italy weary attention, and exhaust admir- 
ation. It is evident, however, I think, that 
this very circumstance has induced the 
miraculous perfection of art, which be- 
longed to an age gone by, and a state of 
things never likely to return. 



NAPLES. 305 

The talents of the Greek sculptor, and 
the Italian painter, were alike pressed into 
the service of religion. Not only the 
patronage and gifts of their respective 
countries wrought on them, but the admir- 
ing and adoring homage paid to their 
greatest works, arising from that power 
with which, through the senses, devotional 
feelings do seize upon and move the soul, 
warmed them into the most glowing and 
daring conceptions, the most bold and suc- 
cessful execution. Nor do I believe that 
the strongest and most disciplined mind of 
the calmest Christian, could pass the pic- 
tures of a Raphael, a Domenichino, a 
Guido, or a Guercino, without the tribute 
of a deep-felt admiration. 

I might have chosen other names, and 
better perhaps, but some who have seen 
the Archangel of Guido, and the large dark 
visions of Guercino, his figures and features 
not beautiful, but left to the sympathy of 
his gazer, as mere human beings exercised 
in sorrow and in suffering, may think 

X 



306 NAPLES. 

with me, that Guido and Guercino are 
among the greatest. 

The cathedral, the chapel of St. Severo, 
and two or three other churches are seen 
with pleasure. That of San Severo con- 
tains three very original and interesting- 
pieces of sculpture. Modesty veiled, a man 
struggling in a net, and a dead Christ co- 
vered with a veil, which adheres to the 
form as if damped by the cold sweat of ex- 
piring agony. The Church of the Apos- 
toli, and of the Annunziata reward a visit ; 
but as for going, in Italian cities, to all the 
churches and chapels to which a guide- 
book would direct you, it is altogether out 
of the question. 

The excursion to Pompeii would, of 
itself, repay the traveller for a longer and 
more disagreeable journey than that from 
London to Naples. 

Pompeii is not a ruin, that is, not a 
monument of crumbling and mouldering" 
decay ; it is only a forsaken city, shaken by 
the earthquake of the year gone by, or 



NAPLES. 307 

sacked and fired by the armies of our day ; 
why, ignorant Enghsh soldiers, undoubting 
and easily contented, might still be told 
that they were in a city destroyed by the 
French last year, and put into billets, right 
and left, through its streets j in a few 
houses they would find the shelter of a 
roof, but in all would still have a dry red 
brick wall to put their backs and arms 
against, where they might escape the night 
wind and the driving rain ; and they would 
only abuse an enemy for having burnt the 
rafters of the house-tops, and the doors 
and windows ; and they would disperse in 
the vineyards, and ramble over the walls, 
and the streets would again become po- 
pulous ; and in the forum the sutlers would 
assuredly establish a market, and officers 
would vote it a pleasant cantonment ; and 
but for the ancient theatres, there is nothing 
about the place which it would puzzle. the 
ignorant to account for in a way satisfying 
to their own minds. 

The first image that presents itself to 
your mind is that of its flying population — 

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308 NAPLES. 

the loaded wain ; the staggering ass ; every 
head with its large bundle ; every hand with 
its vessels and valuables ; the infant in arms ; 
the trembling little children holding to the 
mother's robe, who has no spare hand to 
aid them ; and the streaming out of un- 
braided hair ; and beauty forgotten by its 
possessor, and disregarded by the passer 
by ; and the mere an im ally brave man 
awed and impotent ; and the philosopher 
awed, yet alive to all the duties imposed on 
him, of advising and succouring, ordering 
and protecting ; magistrates, and priests, 
and soldiers, all busied and terrified. 

" Revelry, and dance, and show 
Suffer a syncope, and solemn pause." 

That the inhabitants of this city had time 
to fly, and bear with them the greater part 
of their possessions, is sufficiently evident; 
but a few perished, and they are brought 
to our notice in a manner that renders their 
fate more impressive and affecting. 

Here, in this villa, (his skeleton hands 
grasping coins, and jewels, and his coffer- 



NAPLES. 309 

key,) was found the perished master, stricken 
in his flight, and a slave behind him with 
silver and bronze vases : then fled the 
shrieking family below to a subterranean 
passage, and there they perished, slowly 
perhaps, seventeen of them, mistress, and 
handmaids, and faithful servants. 

Here is a sadder thing ; — in a little cir- 
cular-roofed seat by the wayside, a kind of 
travellers' resting-place, or a spot to which 
friends would walk, and sit chatting in the 
shade, here was found the skeleton of a 
woman, and an infant skeleton in her arms, 
(safely may the antiquarian write, a mother) 
and two other children lay by her side ; 
precious ornaments were found on all. 
Perhaps she waited for the lord she loved, 
or for her poor handmaid ; or, perhaps, the 
car was to return and take her. 

Here again, near a portico, was found 
some miser, flying with his heavy, strong- 
wrapped hoard : the guide tells you it was 
a priest of Isis ; and here, in her temple, 
were found other skeletons of men, who 

X 3 



310 NAPLES. 

staid to guard or worship her revered 
image ; and, lastly, in a prison or guard- 
house were found skeletons fastened and 
secured in stocks ! 

However, any atteuipt to describe Pom- 
peii comes not within the compass of my 
plan or ability. Here we follow the anti- 
quarian with a silent and thankful attention. 
We are taken by liim into the forum of an- 
cient Romans, their temples, schools, thea- 
tres ; led along their streets ; introduced into 
their houses, and shown the distribution 
and use of their apartments, the laying out 
of their gardens ; we see their baths, their 
place of feasting, and thatv of repose. 

You stand before their shops, and put 
your hand on the little counters of marble, 
one whereof has the stain of a goblet's bot- 
tom ; and where you lean, hundreds of men 
have leaned, in their times, to take a drink, 
perhaps of vinegar and water, a draught 
common among them, and most grateful to 
the thirsty. You walk along the raised 
footway, and mark, in the carriage- road. 



NAPLES. 



311 



the worn wheel-track ; you cross at the 
stepping-stones, and think of the lifted 
toga ; you stop at the open spots where 
streets meet and cross, and look for the 
damsels who came crowding with their urns 
to the convenient wells. 

The bakehouse, the wine shop, and the 
cooks' shops, exactly similar in plan to 
those I have seen in Mocha and Djidda, 
with stoves and large vessels for boiling 
and preparing food, are all to be found 
in this silent city* You pass among the 
columns of many temples ; you enter the 
hall of judgment, and walk up between its 
Corinthian columns, and look with suspi- 
cion on the raised tribunal, and think about 
imperial decrees ; you go into the theatres, 
and then on, across a vineyard, to the noble 
amphitheatre, and ascending to the top, 
gaze out, and forget everything but the 
bright beauty of the scenery ; till, turning to 
descend, you see where the civilized Roman 
sat smiling while the Numidian lion tore 
the frame of his captive foe, perhaps the 
brave, the blue-eyed Dacian ; or frowning 
X 4 



SI 2 NAPLES. 

upon his youngest son, who, at his first 
visit to the games, would look at times pale, 
and with an eye dimmed by a tear, but not 
degraded by allowing it to fall. 

You linger long at Pompeii, and people 
it, and build up its temples, and replace the 
statues on their shrines ; and meet men 
riding, (like the Balbi,) and bend with re- 
spect to such a matron as the mother of that 
family, and look in the garden of Diomedes 
for the younger forms, and ask whether 
lutes and musical voices ever sounded there. 

The sun declines ; your coachman looks 
impatient; you get in, take off your hat to 
let the soft air come and calm you, and, 
reclining back, with a full feeling of de- 
lighted satisfaction, are driven home. 

The day after, I visited Herculaneum. — 
I would advise all travellers to see it first, 
as, after having wandered about. Pompeii, 
your interest is less likely to be awakened 
here. Still, it is a pleasure to descend with 
a torch into its dark, damp theatre, buried 
deep below, and to trace its corridors, 
stage, orchestra, proscenium, and the seats 



NAPLES. 313 



of the consuls. A statue or mask has left 
its impress on the lava. You hear far 
above the carriages of Portici rolling over 
you ; the sound is very awful ; it is de- 
scribed as sounding like thunder, but this 
does not convey the idea, it is something 
very different, not easy to express. 

The museum at Portici is uncommonly 
interesting. It consists chiefly of the paint- 
ings which adorned the buildings and dwell- 
ings in Herculaneum and Pompeii. The 
subjects are various; from many of them you 
learn exactly what the aspect of things was 
in their day ; such as houses, gardens, pub- 
lic buildings, shops, conveyances, also tem- 
ples, theatres, priests, and performers ; the 
borderings and decorations of apartments ; 
and many paintings of altogether a higher, 
though not so curious, a description, the 
subjects of which are scenes historical and 
mythological. I certainly had no idea that 
I should find such beauty in the composi- 
tion, grouping, and expression of these pic- 
tures as I did. 

I staid among them till I could see no 



C} 



14 NAPLES. 



longer, and went out reluctantljj and I 
visited them a second time leisurely. 

During the greater part of the time that 
I remained at Naples, the theatre of St. 
Carlos was closed : it opened, however, be- 
fore I went away. It is certainly a most 
splendid theatre ; but the performance, 
both opera and ballet, fell very far short of 
my expectations. It was not, in fact, the 
season when they put forth their strength. 
I did not hear the prima donna, or see, I 
suspect, the principal dancers. Adelina 
was the opera, Atys and Chloe the ballet. 
The orchestra was very fine ; the scenery 
and decorations also excellent ; and the 
situations and dances in the ballet pretty, 
but inferior to what I have seen both in 
Paris and London, and what I afterwards 
saw at Milan. 

To visit the theatres of Italy is a part of 
the tour ; the national taste and tone is ge- 
nerally there discovered in all countries. 
I must however except our own. Could I 
see the English theatre what it might, and 
ought to be—' a place where the foreigner 



NAPLES. 815 

might discover the strength and depth of 
English feelings, our warm perceptions of 
the poetical merit of our higher order of 
drama, our free indulgence in the cheerful 
laugh excited by a good comedy, I should 
rejoice indeed ; because the sum of (in my 
opinion) both innocent and improving re- 
laxation for thousands would be enlarged. 
When will this be ? When will the public 
drive Toms and Jerrys, and Don Giovannis 
in London, ay, and all the horses and 
trumpery with them, from the British stage, 
and let us have a theatre to which we may 
take daughters without a blush, sons with- 
out a fear, and ourselves with some chance 
of being intellectually amused. 

I had orders for all the palaces, but I 
put off visiting them from day to day, 
and finally left Naples without seeing them ; 
neither did I ascend the mountain : it was 
in a state of dull inactivity, and nothing 
but the enjoyment of the view would have 
taken me up ; but I was so gratified in the 
museums, and at its beautiful base, that I de- 
layed till an unexpected occurrence hurried 



316 NAPLES. 

me away. I consider it as no great loss : 
I doubt the view being a finer one than 
that from Monte Vomero : its superior 
elevation is against it : and again, it has 
not that mighty and awful character of the 
vast and lofty Etna, the impression of my 
visit to which I should have been sorry to 
have had weakened or disturbed. 

My last excursion was that to Baise : one 
that would be often repeated if you could 
remain longer. 

At a very early hour you pass through 
the long grotto of Posilipo, and out among 
the pleasant vineyards, where the dressers 
of the vine are standing on ladders that 
lean against the elms, and gathering the 
ripe grape ; and women and children, and 
baskets half filled, complete the picture. 

Language does not admit of your de- 
scribing a long day of rambling, where so 
much of beauty, so much of loveliness is 
gazed upon ; to the eye, enchantingly va- 
ried, but to which can only be applied 
epithets alike wearisome to utter, pen, lis- 
ten to, or read J where they must follow in 



NAPLES. 317 

too close succession. The first scene gives 
you the little rocky isle of Nisid a to view : 
it is situated just beyond the extreme point 
of the hill of Posilipo, and with it, forms 
one sheltering arm for a small pretty bay. 
Pozzuoli is seen directly opposite ; and you, 
describing the semicircle on the curving 
beach, are driven rapidl}^ on an excellent 
road to the city. 

Here I took a boat, and was rowed across 
to that part of the bay where they place 
the villa of Nero and the vapour baths. I 
went in, and found them hot and steamy : 
there are rude chambers in the rock, with 
raised couches of stone, on which, to this 
hour, the sick who are occasionally brought 
here from the hospital at Naples, for the 
benefit of the baths, are laid. 

A fellow presented himself before me, 
stripped as for a boxing match, with a can- 
dle and a raw egg ; I gave him the usual 
reward, bidding him put on his shirt, blow 
out his candle, and keep his raw egg for the 
next visitor. I now directed my boat to 
the Lucrine lake : you pass steps, found- 



oi5 NAPLES. 

ations of houses, and fragments of ruin seen 
under the clear waters : you mount a don- 
key near the Lucrine lake, and ride up to 
where Avernus lies, surrounded by sloping 
hills, covered with underwood and vines ; 
a young and cheerful sailor runs before 
your donkey through a narrow bushy path, 
and stops you at the entrance into the 
sibyl's grotto : he lights a torch, and leads 
you up a dark cavern, till coming to a nar- 
rower passage on the right, with a deeper, 
thicker gloom, he stoops, and giving you 
the torch, motions you to mount his back, 
and carries you through it to three dark 
chambers, half filled with water, with some 
mosaic yet discoverable on the walls, and a 
raised recess, where he deposits you. He 
went out, and bade me call for him when 
satisfied; and there I stood for many mi- 
nutes, flashing my red torch, which now 
gave the damp and rocky roof to view, and 
was now reflected from these waters on 
which the sun beam never plays : — 

" The oracles are dumb, 
No voice or hideous hum 
Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving." 



NAPLES, 319 

The day looks doubly bright when you 
again go forth, and you ride to a beauti- 
fully-broken fringed ruin of a temple, which 
is seen at the head of this lake of Avernus, 
now no longer noxious, but giving back to 
the skimming bird its own glad image, and 
suffering those with the webbed foot to 
sport and dive among its waters, and chase 
its frightened fishes. 

Whether the dark Pluto, or the bright 
god of day was worshipped in that temple, 
none can tell you ; all you know is that 
there was a shrine which " now no longer 
burns." 

I climbed the hill behind, and after in- 
dulging in a long gaze on the picturesque 
view from its summit, which is all loveli- 
ness, save one sad feature — the brown 
mountain hillock, the monument of a wild 
earthquake ; one which swallowed up a 
village, with all the human beings who 
laughed and wept in it, at one troubled 
heave, and threw up this dull memorial, to 
remind the dweller mid these scenes so 
fair and so attractive to the heart, that they 



320 NAPLES. 

must one day be left for ever, nay, per- 
haps, before the set of another sun. Not 
the less do you indulge to the full extent 
in the warm and innocent permitted plea- 
sure of gazing round, and blessing the kind 
providence which has spread out these glo- 
rious gifts of his creation for thankless 
man. 

I passed down the road to Cumae. The 
Arco Felice is a fine remain, the prospect 
from it noble — a rich foreground, ocean, 
and islands beyond ; you tread the ancient 
pavement of a street of Cumae ; you find 
many ruins and fragments ; descend a 
staircase in the rock, and visit the ancient 
baths below ; also another grotto, that of 
the Cumsean Sibyl ; and mount the hill 
where Dedalus spread his wings before the 
shrhie of the temple he erected, and de- 
dicated to Apollo. It was from hence that 
Aligern, having scooped and mined the 
sibyl's cave, stood on the fragment of the 
rock, and for a year defied the destroyer of 
his nation and the slayer of his brother 
Tela, the last king of the Goths. It is 



NAPLES. 321 

a beautiful ride by the lake of Fusaro to 
the hill above Baiae : you visit, as you pass 
along, the ruins of two amphitheatres, and 
you afterwards skirt the lake ; it was an- 
ciently known as the gloomy Acheron. 
From the hill above Baise, you descend, 
but with slow and pausing steps : such 
scenes of beauty crowd upon the view. 
At your foot, there are temples, and cham- 
bers, and baths, in ruin, where you gladly 
linger ; then again, you take your boat, and 
are rowed round another point of the bay, 
and pass ruins of villas, where anHortensius, 
a Marius dwelt, and up to that of the wealthy 
Lucullus — What did a Tiberius in such a 
scene ? There is a fine ruin, called a Piscina 
Mirabile, a work vast and Roman ; a cluster 
of vaulted subterranean chambers, called 
the Cento Camerelle, and thought to have 
been a prison — a sad one, to have heard 
from it the joyous waves without, voices as 
in " perpetual jubilee ;" and to have known 
of the blue sky, and bright sun, and green 
vineyards above ; and then to have turned 
on your dark bed of stone, and looked on 

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322 NAPLES. 

black vacancy — sad indeed ! From the hill 
above, the cape of Misenum ; the port 
without a galley ; the Stygian lake shining ; 
and the Elysian fields, not now remarkable 
for beauty, are traced with Virgil in your 
thoughts. 

At the spot where you re-embark, they 
show you a dark passage or chamber, which 
they call the Sepulchre of Agrippina — you 
think of her, and the wonderful statue of 
her in the museum, give a sigh of recol- 
lection over her doubtful tomb ; and then, 
as you get into your boat, distribute some 
small coins amongst the children, who crowd 
round the pilgrim of pleasure, and are 
rowed across to Pozzuoli, passing the vast 
fragments of that ancient mole, so famous 
in its day, said by the antiquarian to be 
the work of Greeks, repaired under Roman 
emperors, and principally remarkable to 
such an idler as myself, as having witnessed 
the folly and the pride of a wretch like 
Caligula. 

In the immediate neighbourhood of Poz- 
zuoli they conduct you to the ruin of a 



NAPLES, 323 

building, which they call a villa of Cice- 
ro's ; in short, on every side you meet ves- 
tiges of the great, famous, and wealthy 
Romans, who courted repose and enjoy- 
ment amid these delicious scenes. The 
fisher, in his breaking net, and the boy 
in his playful divings, continually bring up 
pieces of agate or porphyry, or relics yet 
more precious, of Roman magnificence. 
There is one very fine remain here, a tem- 
ple of Jupiter Serapis : true it is, that all 
deemed worth removal has been carried 
away ; but three fine columns, erect amid 
fallen capitals, and the fragments of other 
solid shafts, and in the midst of a quadran- 
gle, paved with white marble, show how 
chaste and rich its adornment may once 
have been. 

There is also an amphitheatre here, well 
deserving a visit : some poor cottagers are 
its guardians ; you pass through their cat- 
tle-yard, and see the red-stained wine vats 
empty, and waiting for the pressing and 
treading of the season just at hand. In one 

Y 2 



324 NAPLES. 

of the corridors of the theatre is a small 
chapel, dedicated to a saint, of whom the 
legend runs, that he was exposed to wild 
bears on its arena, and that they licked his 
hands, and would not harm him — it is a 
very grand ruin, and must have been very ca- 
pacious. Lastly, I went up to the Solfatara ; 
saw, in parts, the yellow smoke and blue 
vapour which force through the crevices in 
the earth, and listened to that sound which 
the hollow womb beneath returns to the 
heavy-falling stone. This forum of Vulcan 
is a desolate scene— very desolate, of a 
considerable extent, and white and bare, 
like a chalk pit ; it is surrounded on three 
sides, by small hills, which are just 
crowned with a little wood : from the 
terraced roof of the cottage, at the gate, 
you command a noble view — the bays, the 
promontories, the islands, and the ocean, 
are all before you. I staid there, and saw 
the day die, as it dies in Italy ; and then 
drove home, with memory busy, and my 
eyes, even at that late hour, delighted with 



NAPLES. 325 

the fine black outlines of rock, hill, trees, 
and buildings, and the night-gleam of the 
sleeping and far-spread waters. 

Of drives, rides, and walks round Naples, 
there is a great choice ; the Strada de Po- 
silipo ; the Strada Nuova ; that to Portici ; 
that leading to Capo de Monte, and down 
beyond it, as well as every road and path 
on the ridge of hills which rise behind or 
above the city, have all charms and points 
of view never to be forgotten. 

Of the society at Naples I saw, and can 
therefore relate nothing. Its aspect, as 
outwardly observed, might warrant guesses 
as to its character. It is a melancholy 
thing to see any city so coarsely degraded 
as this is, by it^ Austrian garrison. I 
speak not of the officers or soldiers of the 
troops, whose appearance and conduct 
seemed to me to be correct, orderly, and 
soldier-like. I particularly observed the men, 
when not in the presence of their officers 
they walked in groups through out-of-the- 
way places, or stopped in market-places, 
or before shops and stalls to make pur- 
Y 3 



326 NAPLES. 

chases ; and as an admirer of that discipline 
among them, which must greatly alleviate 
the odious despotism of their grasping go- 
vernment, I bear testimony to it with a 
cheerful praise : but to see a guard in every 
street, a regular war picquet with cannon in 
one of the squares, and Austrian sentinels 
at every place of public amusement, made 
me ask myself what the world had gained 
by the renewed strength of those iron pen- 
nons which drooped and fluttered feebly 
on the red and trampled field of Austerlitz ? 
An Austrian officer, with whom I had a 
long and interesting conversation at a i^es- 
taurateurs, when I asked him what he 
thought of the policy pursued by his coun- 
try throughout Italy, thus remarkably ex- 
pressed himself, " as a man I think in one 
way, as a citizen of the world in another ; 
and as an Austrian officer, I must both think 
and act as a character distinct from either." 
The Germans are avowedly, a military 
people ; but religious liberty has oblig- 
ations to Germany, which no protestant 
can ever forget, and the day may yet come 



NAPLES. 327 

when the Prussian who flew so nobly to 
the attack of that man whom they justly 
considered as an enemy to the peace, hap- 
piness, and freedom of the human race, 
may claim or enforce his reward, and light 
a steady flame throughout Germany, which 
shall burn not with destructive fierceness, 
but with the bright, calm glory of a rational 
and resolute struggle for the blessings of 
civil liberty. 

You see German travellers in great num- 
bers throughout Italy, and I had the plea- 
sure of casually conversing with some whom 
I consider it a privilege to have met. 

Two days after my Baias excursion, the 
weather changed, and we had much heavy 
rain, and violent tempestuous wind ; but 
the rain fell only in long showers, and the 
gales were of no continuance, so that no 
day passed without its sunshine, and the 
bay seemed merely freshened by a breeze ; 
its still waters changed into feathery waves, 
which looked perhaps more beautiful, never 
terrible. 

On a Thursday evening I heard that the 
Y 4 



328 NAPLES. 

new Pope had been elected, and was to be 
crowned on the Sunday following. I im- 
mediately engaged a place, with a private 
courier extraordinary, going post to Rome, 
and left the gay city of Naples, at three 
o'clock on the Friday afternoon, in com- 
pany with three French ecclesiastics, one 
of whom was of some rank, the second a 
most intelligent pleasant Abbe of about 
thirty, and the third, a young churchman, 
in a forage cap, en militaire, and with such 
animation and vivacity, that I took him for 
an officer, and from the fairness of his 
complexion did not believe him to be a 
native of France. 

" See Naples, and die," is the old saying, 
I believe ; but I cannot say that after seeing 
Naples you find your attachment to life, and 
those sights and scenes which the fair 
world contains, at all weakened. A cause, 
indeed, of some mental restlessness is re- 
moved, and a man does feel the happier, 
and the readier perhaps to go quietly on 
his path to that goal whither we are all 
moving, for having been indulged by so 



NAPLES. 329 

fair a picture of creation's beauties as these 
favoured regions present. 

We were driven from it with great ra- 
pidity, stopped for a few minutes to refresh 
at Capua, and were served with such exe- 
crable food and wine as would have been 
no snare to the rudest Carthaginian. 

It was dark, wet and windy, as we passed 
the Garigliano and looked out on those 
lonely swamps, where Marius shivered in 
a chill concealment, from whence he was 
dragged in chains by those who had shouted 
around his Cimbric car, who had seen him 
return in triumph from conquered Africa, 
and from whom at last he fled to beg his 
bread in that land, through which he had 
rode as a victorious captain. Of the beau- 
tiful scenery about Mola de Gaeta we saw 
nothing ; but we heard as we sat silent in 
the night, the hoarse dashing of the wave. 
At Terracina, we breakfasted in a large, 
comfortless, dirty inn. The place is well 
situated. The sun was bright again. The 
sea view fresh and fair, and its steep cliff 
crowned with the ruins of a temple, dedi- 



330 NAPLES. 

cated to Jove of Anxur, and of a castle- 
palace of Theodoric the Goth, shows nobly. 
We passed the truly fine road which runs 
across the Pontine marshes so rapidly, that 
the eye had not time to be fatigued ; and 
what with the canal, the verdure, and the 
Appenines, you forget that you are on a 
chaussee^ straight as the arrow's flight, and 
bordered all the way by trees. 

Velletri and the road from thence to 
Gensano, and that spot, and on to Albano, 
delight and charm the traveller. 

The hills and vales are beautifully varied. 
The vineyards appear to be laid out, and 
attended to with the greatest care. You 
see fragments of antiquity, and in passing 
forth from Albano, two, which strongly 
interest ; the one reputed to be the tomb 
of Ascanius, first known to us in our care- 
less boyhood, and in all the freshness of 
his own ; the other, that of the Curiatii. 

The dark shadows of evening were 
gathering as we reached Torre de Mezza 
Via, and nothing could look more desolate 
than the barren plain you traverse towards 



ROME. 331 

the city of Rome. The arches of ruined 
aqueducts, and the nameless sepulchres 
which, spoiled of their marbles and orna- 
ments, are found upon your path, are in 
character with the still soHtude. 

It was night when we entered Rome, 
and as we were accompanied by a guardian 
from the gate, we drove very slowly through 
the site of the ancient city to the Dogana, 
which is built under eleven majestic co- 
lumns of Grecian marble. We passed an 
obelisk ; we passed columns ; we passed 
the Coliseum ! 

The darkness of Italy is a clear darkness. 
The shadowy majesty of that immense and 
lofty ruin as then first seen, I shall long 
remember ; shrouded in darkness, yet 
darker itself, it stood a spectral vision of 
past power and might, that sought to veil 
its ruined features from the curious, insult- 
ing eye, and fancy gave to it a thought and 
will, a loathing of the gaudy sunbeam, 
and a stern memory of bloody scenes which 
shrunk from the soft loveliness of that 
lesser light, which guilty greatness never 



332 ROME. 

yet delighted in. Between eight and nine 
on the following morning, I sallied from 
my inn, and hastened to St. Peter's ; I 
crossed the bridge of St. Angelo, and 
looked up to that castle or tomb, once 
adorned with statues, the pride of the Gre- 
cian chisel, which fierce defenders hurled 
down to give a crushing death to the brave 
Goth as he fearlessly assailed them. 

The square of St. Peter's, its vast circu- 
lar colonnade, its fountains, its obelisk, and 
the temple itself; we know them — we all 
know them : the hurrying errand-boy in 
our London streets, braves a scolding for 
delay to stop before the printseller's win- 
dow and look at the dazzling picture ; but 
to realise it, to see the old-fashioned car- 
riage of the cardinal, and the red robes 
within, and the Swiss halberdier, with his 
party-coloured hose and his steel cuirass — 
why, certainly, it makes the blood run in a 
quick glad current. 

On entering St. Peter's I felt, at first, a 
something of that disappointment which 
all have spoken of There were numbers 



ROME. ^33 

of people already assembled, guards up the 
nave, and round the grand altar, and crowds 
flocking in from the deserted streets and 
dwellings ; but there is no Jilling St. Peter's, 
as you soon discover. Its vastness first 
strongly impressed me as, standing near one 
of those colossal statues which are placed 
on each face of those enormous pilasters that 
sustain the dome, I saw some twenty Ro- 
mans grouped round the giant limbs of the 
St. Andrew of Fiammingo; then I looked up 
at the lofty spiral columns, and the canopy 
of bronze over the high altar, and could 
scarcely give credit to their height, as the 
eye, attracted far above them, looked into a 
cupola, which is itself a temple " hung in 
air." It is glorious ; a light radiant, yet 
soft ; a light which, to the superstitious 
eye, might seem a glory superhuman, floods 
the whole atmosphere in- this sacred edifice, 
and touches statue and tomb, marble and 
mosaic, with hues more rich and mellow 
than their own. 

I saw the pope Leo, twelfth of the name, 
borne up the aisle in such a procession as 



334 ROME. 

belongs only to papal state ; the proud car- 
dinals in their robes of white and gold ; the 
pope, borne on a raised seat of state, the 
Eastern fans of royalty waving near his 
sacred head ; his face pale, and, but for the 
gentle motion of his hands as he spread 
them, in blessing, over the prostrate peo- 
ple, looking like a still idol — a lifeless 
thing, that only trembled from the move- 
ment of the bearers. It lived, that thing, 
and is, by one salutary custom, at this the 
most intoxicating moment of human exalt- 
ation, reminded of its mortality: thrice you 
see small fragments of light paper burnt 
before that moving throne, and the solemn 
warning of " Sic transit gloria mundi,''' is 
thrice uttered to the ear of this earthly king 
of kings. I saw him on his throne behind 
the high altar, and his glittering court of 
lordly priests ; I heard the sweet and so- 
lemn singing of a choir of harmonious 
voices ; in silence the listening ear is mock- 
ed by the memory of their tones : I saw 
each cardinal embraced and blessed by the 
pontiif, and stooping, kiss his foot ; and 



ROME. SS5 

mass was performed by the pontiff himself, 
in a manner far more reverently than I had 
ever seen it ; his voice was clear and grave- 
ly musical ; his action at the altar calm 
and dignified ; and when he held up the 
hallowed wafer, and all bowed down, then, 
as your own head half bent, in sympathetic 
reverence, your eye caught a grouping of 
figures and objects in this vast temple which 
no words could describe. I went forth with 
the crowd, and mingled among those on the 
highest steps. The view of the vast and 
adorned court in front of this mighty and 
matchless temple, covered with the multi- 
tude which awaits the papal benediction, is 
a very imposing spectacle. I lost the mo- 
ment of their kneeling, for my attention was 
called off by a gentleman near me, and we 
were looking up at the balcony above the 
great door, imagining that the pope came for- 
ward to give the blessing, when the appear- 
ance of a cardinal, who read, and then threw 
down two papers of indulgences, told us 
that all was over ; hundreds near the tem- 
ple liad missed the moment, and never 



386 ROME. 

knelt at all, and, indeed, in other parts of 
the square. But the being near where the 
papers fell abundantly repaid me; the 
group which seized and scrambled for the 
tearing did not exceed in number a dozen 
of the very commonest class of rude rustics 
from the country, with whom a few fine 
boys of Rome, of the foot-ball playing age, 
scrambled, evidently for the fun. 

This is as it should be. With all the su- 
perstition yet to be witnessed in Italy, no 
doubt can rest on the mind of the most 
superficial observer, that the papal chair 
and triple crown are no longer to be dread- 
ed as they were. The Jesuit may again 
cozen the few at Naples, and at Turin ; but 
the many have been undeceived. The 
power of the pope is passing away — it is 
passing away in the minds of that portion 
of the middling class of people all over the 
continent, which cannot, like the wealthy 
profligate and sneering philosopher, live 
without religion, yet are willing to burst 
the bonds of that priestly tyranny which 
would insult the understanding and enchain 



ROME. 337 

the conscience. To my mind, the remark 
of some priest to a traveller, that " the 
church of Rome had produced ours, and 
would outlive it," is contradicted to the 
eye and ear at every step ; and as we know 
the premises to be false, so we may smile 
at the inference. On the martyrdom of 
St. Peter and St. Paul was founded a very 
different church, out of which grew their 
deformity, and to the simple and spiritual 
beauty of which it will assuredly, and al- 
ready is returning. Many things presented 
themselves to me in that glorious temple, 
for glorious it is, which left a deep impres- 
sion on me. Among the people, to speak 
generally, there were all the actions of wor- 
ship, but no trace on the features of a heart- 
felt devotion. I should really say that the 
snufF-taking indifference of some of the 
cardinals was the unaffected irreverence of 
unbelievers, and almost all of them seemed 
inattentive. The pope* himself observed 



* He really surprised me by the quiet, easy, passive 
way in which he allowed all those services to be paid 

Z 



338 ROME. 

a demeanour of the most princely ease, and 
the most calm and solemn dignity. I heard 
him highly spoken of as a naan. He dis- 
appointed all strangers, as well as all the 
citizens, by refusing to have the dome illu- 
minated, the girandola, and the other ex- 
pensive gaieties ; and appropriated all the 
money, which would have been so expend- 
ed, to the poor. I felt that such a man 
ought to be a Protestant bishop, and that, 
as anything, he must be amiable and re- 
spected. He is also said to be without any 
violent prejudices, but more a man of the 
world and of business than the venerable 
old monk to whom he has succeeded. I 
got excellent places throughout the morn- 
ing of this day in St. Peter's, and saw all 
to advantage. I found all the guards civil, 
even the rough old Switzers. The guardia 
nobile is splendidly clothed ; and the young 
men composing it have most of them 
served, and are very soldierlike, a thing not 



him by the cardinal-dean and others, which you would 
fancy must disturb the unaccustomed soyereign. 



ROME. 339 

generally known, and which makes many 
look on them, their feathers, and their 
finery, without notice. Some French and 
Italian artists were in the crowd taking 
likenesses ; some Englishmen, here and 
there, standing bolt upright, either from 
principle or pride, when every one in the 
church knelt or bowed at the elevation of 
the host ; and a few English and Italian 
ladies were placed in a raised seat, not far 
from the high altar, most conspicuously ac- 
commodated. 

St. Peter's, however, must be visited and 
revisited alone. I have been in it at morn- 
ing, noon, and as the shades of evening 
dimmed, without obscuring, every object. 
The confessional of St. Peter, with the 
lamps which burn around it, placed, as it is, 
in the centre of the crossing naves of this 
mighty temple, belongs, in its aspect, so 
entirely to all that is grand and solemn in 
the general and most majestic character of 
the idolatries of all ages and nations, that 
could you place here the Assyrian, Egyp- 
tian, Greek, and Roman of ancient times ; 

z 2 



340 ROME. 

the Parsee and the Brahmin, of this, they 
would fall down and worship ; and you feel, 
as you offer thanks for instruction in that 
revealed word which gives a spiritual free- 
dom to your thought, which permits you, 
in towns or deserts, in tumultuous occupa- 
tion or the stillness of the night, to erect 
an altar in your mind and raise a temple 
" not made with hands" above it, a grati- 
tude which is, perhaps, the sweetest and 
most satisfying feeling our spiritual nature 
is capable of indulging. We should all — 
all of us have been idolaters, but for that 
lio;ht which no man could now have the 
mental strength to ridicule, had it never 
shone to give him an illumination of mind 
for which, in the fulness of his pride, he is 
not willing to confess himself, as he is, under 
a vast and increasing weight of obligation. 
Here, in Rome, I had the happiness to 
find my old fellow-travellers. They had 
delayed their departure for Florence solely 
for the pleasure of witnessing the ceremony 
of the coronation. We dined together, on 
this and the following day, and I accom- 



HOME. 34: 1 

panied them to the general post-office, 
whence they were to depart by the courier. 
As they were asking for letters, I, in a sort 
of whim or capricious fancy, put in my 
name ; I had no reason to expect a letter 
from any one — they gave me out a letter 
from the dearest friend I have on earth : a 
thing of this sort on a journey is an event 
too delightful to be passed in silence, as it 
belongs to your impressions. Antiquities, 
churches, paintings — they were forgotten; 
nothing for that evening. 

I only passed fourteen days at Rome : 
the reader will naturally say — " Why? as 
many weeks are insufficient to see it." 
Many things I left unseen. I went forth 
in the morning, lingered where I had pro- 
posed to be rapid in my gaze, and hurried 
away from other sights which I had thought 
would have delayed and interested me 
longer. I had a carriage, and a domestique 
de place^ almost as necessaries, to enable 
me to see what I did ; and in the dusk hour 
of each day I got a calming drive, which 
gave me a good survey of Rome in every 

z 3 



o42 ROME. 

direction. The ruins, the temples, the 
museums, have filled, and might yet fill, 
volumes ; they are not, they never will be, 
described in a manner satisfying to the 
mind. In the arbour of your garden, and 
by the side of your study fire, you read all 
that has been written about them, and you 
feel that you are not so far aided in your 
conceptions as language might aid you : 
and, at this moment, if any highly-gifted 
person, with learning, taste, and feeling, 
should undertake the task, he would confer 
a favour and a benefit on thousands of read- 
ing men who have neither the power nor 
the wish to wander beyond the limits of a 
retired and confined neighbourhood, and to 
whom a faithfully descriptive volume is 
always a treasure. 

In one thing we sorrow as we wander 
among the ruins of Rome : they belong not 
to those periods in Roman story to which 
we are ready to give the warm tribute of 
our admiration. The temples, the columns, 
the arches, the traces of the bath and the 
palace, the circus and the portico, the 



ROME. S43 

transported obelisks, and that greatest of 
Rome's wonders, the cohseum — these be- 
long not to that day, when 

" The rough soldier, yet untaught by Greece 
To hang enraptured o'er a finished piece, 
If haply midst the congregated spoils. 
Proofs of his power, and guerdons of his toils, 
Some antique cup of master hands were found, 
Would dash the glittering bauble on the ground; 
That, in new forms, the molten fragments drest, 
Might blaze illustrious on his courser's chest ; 
Or beaming from his awful helmet show. 
The rise of Rome to the devoted foe ; 
The mighty father, with his shield and spear, 
Hovering enamour'd o'er the sleeping fair; 
And the fierce wolf at heaven's command grown mild, 
And playful at her dugs each wondrous child." 

No, it is Grecian Rome, imperial Rome, 
on which you look ; nor can all the glowing 
eloquence of a Gibbon clothe it with a 
majesty which admits of veneration, after 
the pages of a Juvenal and a Suetonius 
have been perused. 

Let us come into this amphitheatre. 
Musing amid these ruins, our historian. 
Gibbon, conceived the work, which, in 
despite of all those passages so dangerous 

z 4 



344 ROME. 

to the careless reader, he did so wonder- 
fully execute with such vigour, and such 
power of description, and such laborious 
fidelity, that we are transported, at his will, 
to the palace or the temple, the banquet or 
the sacrifice, the council or the clashing 
combat. Tell me, historian, what may have 
been the use and purpose of this noble 
structure, whose towering height, and vast 
dimensions, and solid grandeur, raise our 
conceptions of those who reared a monu- 
ment so mighty, and make us feel our 
littleness, as, treading at its foot, we muse 
in silence ? Why, a poet of our own day 
and a sculptor of the ancient have told it — 
sublimely affectingly told it; — the dying 
gladiator^ 

" Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday,'^ 

was the sight to gaze on which a nation 
hurried. They rung once with a hellish 
laugh these walls, even from their topmost 
arch down to the lowest seat which circled 
round the combatants ; an unarmed, peace- 
ful man, a fond enthusiast, who wept for his 
bleeding fellow-creatures, ran in upon the 



ROME. 345 



arena to separate the gladiators, to declare 
the duty of man, in love towards his fellow; 
one voice, of many voices, called to the 
swords below, and they were passed into 
his kindly bosom. 

Why, let us turn then from the name of 
Roman to the gentler Goth, who bade 
these brutal sacrifices cease. The Christian 
martyr and the painted savage of Britain 
rise, with their bleeding shades, to bid you 
back ; you must not wander here to think 
admiringly of the Roman : go to the yellow 
Tiber's bank, and look for the ruins of 
that bridge, where Horatius Codes won for 
himself, and for his country, the heroic 
name — forth to that lone spot where the 
grotto, and the fountain, and the headless 
image of the nymph Egeria mark the once 
hallowed haunt of a virtuous legislator. 

Ascend the tower of the Capitol, and 
look around over the stately columns, and 
the pointing obelisks, the temples, porticoes, 
the arches of triumph ! What ages flit, with 
their crowding shadows, past you ! What 
voices sound, sober and sad, of those who 



34:6 ROME. 

thought and wrote like men worthy the 
name — men, an undiscovered scroll of 
whose true thoughts would be prized as a 
nobler relic than these grand, though ruined 
shrines of gods and victors, about whom 
we are now disenchanted. 

The greatest pleasure derived from 
wandering among these noble remains, is 
a consideration of the surprising power of 
man. Beneath such a magnificent ruin as 
the forum of Nerva, under the columns 
of a Trajan, and an Antoninus, before that 
stupendous block the obelisk, brought from 
Heliopolis, and, above all, in that glorious 
temple the Pantheon, which has been the 
model for all after-time, you feel, if you 
are a common man, one without the bright 
attainments of that scientific knowledge, 
which is true power, without even the 
strength or skill to raise the stone, or 
shape the common brick ; you feel all the 
advantages and blessings of society doubly; 
you shrink to think of the littleness and 
helplessness of solitary man ; you startle at 
his power and daring, where minds and 



HOME. 347 

bodies aid each other, and fill the world 
with wonders of a creation within, and from 
its fair self, which to the eye of the un- 
tutored savage, would all be miracles. 

I like the black and monumental cy- 
presses, which on the hills round this city 
seem to grow as mourners, and darkly 
wave their spiral tops above this spot, this 
grave of glory, and of empire. How strange 
mirth seems in Rome ! yet here it is loud, 
healthy, happy.. Beneath a lofty mound of 
broken sherds and ancient pottery, without 
the city, there are some rustic taverns, 
and there are trees near, and grass grows 
round them : here you may see the people. 
The women in their black hats, with flowers 
in them, and bouquets in their hands and 
bosoms, and the laced corset, and the 
velvet jacket, nine crowded in one open 
carriage, all smiles and glowing with rude 
health, arrive and sit down with men of 
their own class, at open tables, and feast 
and dance to the lute and tambourine ; 
and spend the long holiday in merriment. 
The forms and features of the Roman wo- 



348 ROME. 

men are very handsome ; they are all on 
the large scale, but have astonishingly fine 
profiles, and eyes of the brightest lustre. 
They still call these festivals Bacchanalian, 
and crowd to them, if the weather is fine, 
in great numbers. I twice saw them, and 
have fixed the picture in my mind. The 
costume of the men is a mixture of that 
common now to all Europe, with a slight 
something left of their ancient gaudier 
taste, which, in the colour of a waistcoat, or 
in ribbons, may be seen. A few still wear 
the brown jackets without collars, and the 
round-crowned low peasants' hats ; but this 
is not, now, common in towns. 

In the modern city of Rome the palaces 
and noble fountains look as if it were a 
dwelling-place of princes ; its numerous 
churches and monuments, as if it were the 
centre of earth's holy pilgrimages ; its 
streets and shops*, as if it was but a gay and 



* The shops of articles of virtu ; of ornamental 
clocks, and other drawing-room toys ; and of engrav- 
ings, are very numerous. 



ROME. 349 

expensive resort for the idle, the wealthy, 
and the fashionable of all countries. Enter 
the gallery, the studio^ and the retired 
restaurateur at the hour of dusk, and in 
numbers of young ardent eyes, pale cheeks, 
and slender frames, you shall see pupils who 
live gazing upon and copying the works of 
the old masters, and numbers of whom 
sicken at the hopeless pursuit of the excel- 
lence which they see to have been attained, 
and which yet seems, and is, at an im- 
measurably surpassing distance before the 
toiling genius* of the present day that 
pants far, far behind. 

To enumerate the statues and paintings 
of Rome, with even the briefest notice of 
the kind and character of beauty impressed 
on each, would require a knowledge that 
never will be mine, and a power of de- 
scriptive language beyond, far beyond my 
feeble pen. 

But let not the stranger in Rome be de- 



* There are a -few, but they are very few, bright 
exceptions; a Canova, a West, now gathered to the 
grave of genius. 



350 ROME. 

pressed by his ignorance of the arts ; let 
him gaze to the satisfying of that natural 
taste, which we all possess in some degree, 
and the approving voice of which is, and 
has been, the test, in every age, of true 
excellence. 

For whom does the bard attune his lyre ? 
the sculptor give forms to . the shapeless 
block ? the painter, the colouring and 
charm of life to the dull brown canvass ? 
Why, not for the gifted few in their re- 
spective paths of mental labour ; but for 
you, and me, and all mankind. 

It is reading poetry of the highest order, 
merely to walk the silent chambers of the 
Vatican, to enter the still churches and 
chapels, and to visit the galleries of Rome. 

Many, many I left unseen, and of those 
I saw, to speak generally, there is only an 
impression left on the mind, indistinct, 
but delightful, from which, as some chord 
in the memory is touched, a vision of 
beauty, or a brow of sadness, a scene of 
heavenly peacefulness and calm glory, or 
of earthly suffering, and pale martyrdom, 



I 



ROME. 35 1 

rise and realise to the silent fancy its unut- 
terable workings. The awful painting in 
the Sistine Chapel, by Buonarotti, of the 
last judgment, is faded, and presents to the 
eye a confused mass of wonderfully grouped 
figures, which for the first few minutes dis- 
appoints, but after awhile you separate 
many parts of this vast picture, and are 
well repaid for your patient delay. I closed 
my eyes for several minutes, and on open- 
ing them, I found that the dark indistinct- 
ness, at first so painful, yielded to the 
strengthened sight. Angels aiding the 
ascent of the dead to heaven, and demons 
striving to pull them downwards to tor- 
ment and darkness, form an episode in 
this picture, which with sadness and joy 
divide your heart as you look upon it. 

The prophets and sibyls are figures of 
power in bold shadowy draperies. 

In the gallery leading to the chambers 
of Raphael, there are, in small compart- 
ments. Arabesques and Scripture histories 
by that artist and his scholars. One much 
lauded, and with a most sublimelv-ima- 



852 ROME. 

gined figure, is looked upon with pain. It 
is an awful attempt to personify Almighty 
power, separating light from darkness. If 
it were called the cloud-compelling Jupiter 
of Greece, we should pause long before the 
bold conception ; as it is, we turn away. 
From the chambers, on whose walls Ra- 
phael has left his genius in scenes and 
forms, which you sigh to think must in the 
lapse of time fade away, but can never 
perish from the memory of him, who has 
once seen them, and which give, and have 
given, and long will, models of a sublime 
beauty to all pupils of his glorious art, you 
come forth, with an accession of images, 
to your expanded mind. 

The hall of Constantine, with its battle, 
the groundwork of all like subjects, is a 
fine thing ; but when you pass on, and see 
the temple and the tyrant*, the celestial 
warrior, and the angels rapid as the light 



* Celebrated picture of Heliodorus, treasurer of 
Seleucus, in the Temple of Jerusalem, thrown down and 
vanquished by angels, and a figure on horseback. 



ROME. 353 

in their avenging speed, you feel awe. In 
this chamber all is mysterious and sublime ; 
the threatening vision and the terror strick- 
en Attila, contrasted by the vigour and 
fearless fierceness of the common Hun, 
whose figure, horse, and attitude, breathe 
his nation's character ! a wonderous pic- 
ture ! — The bright angel who delivers St. 
Peter 1 we never forget such things. I 
fatigue you, and cannot do my subject any 
justice. The heads of saints and philo- 
sophers, prelates, and priests, and warriors; 
the conquered Saracen ; the fire in 
Rome, with all the various groupings and 
episodes, are seen, and remembered as 
things, which, when you open the page of 
the historian, shed over it a living aspect of 
reality. 

The apartments above contain a few of 
the most celebrated easel paintings, by dif- 
ferent masters. Here, again, Raphael's 
genius sits high enthroned among them ; 
his Transfiguration, not to be described ; 
his Madonna de Foligno, a beauty some- 
thing more than woman's, and far pre- 

A A 



354 ROxME. 

ferred by me, to that of the well-known 
Madonna della Seggiola. Gazmg upon 
Domenichino's communion of St. Jerome, 
you feel, like the young. Sacristan, who 
kneeling before that aged Saint, in all the 
abstraction of youthful sympathy, seems 
receiving impressions never to pass away. 

The taking down from the Cross by Cara- 
vaggio, and the crucifixion of St. Peter, by 
Guido, are noble and mighty performances ; 
the Archangel Michael, victorious over 
Satan, seen in the lateral chapel of a 
small church, the name of which I have 
forgotten, is one of the most acknowledgedly 
sublime pictures ever painted by Guido, or 
by man. I passed a long, long time before 
it, and when, at last, I suffered the capucin 
to draw over it the curtain, which shut it 
from my sight, I felt an aching regret to 
part from so glorious a vision, and would 
not suffer my conductor to show me the 
other celebrated pictures in the same 
church. 

The figure of the Archansfel has been 
called the Apollo Belvedere of painting. I 



ROME. 355 

do not think that they can be well or justly 
compared with each other. The Apollo 
has a character of beauty and grandeur 
very great, but quite distinct from that in 
the angel of Guido. In the statue of the 
heathen god there is a something of the 
disturbance of disdain ; there is the attitude, 
and there has been the eflPort of destruction. 
In the figure of the angel, there is only the 
airy tread of power resistless, and his looks 
are bright, refulgent; no mortal passion mars 
their calm beauty ; it is as the glory of the 
arrowy lightning ; eyes gaze on it admir- 
ingly, yet does it carry death ; but feels no 
wrath, and in the smiling infant would 
inspire no terror. 

But I am forgetting my prudent resolve. 
We will only walk through the corri- 
dors, porticoes, and chambers where the 
statues are disposed, silently, yet pausing 
before that matchless statue* of which you 
feel that, could the breath of life be given 
to it, no form now living of created man, 

* The Apollo Belvedere. 
AA 2 



356 ROME. 

but would stand awed before a brow and 
limbs, in grace and majesty surpassing all. 
Many others are there of a beauty, on 
which we look with a still fondness for the 
perished forms which gave such models. 
Terror too, and death, and pain, and 
mental agony are here, in the sad suffering 
groupe of Laocoon and his sons struggling 
in the serpent's folds ; and man's brutality 
and cunning cruelty are here, opposed to 
guilelessness, and youthful daring, in Ca- 
nova's boxers ; and beauty is here, in 
Meleager, Perseus, Adonis, and many a 
draperied female form, and many a 
youthful Bacchus ; and animals half live 
in stone ; the dog domestic of the shep- 
herd ; the cow, the goat, the wild boar, 
the tiger, the horse, terrified and writhing 
under the strong and raging lion. 

Sarcophagi, and baths of vast dimen- 
sion, ornamental columns, seats, candela- 
bra, all of marble, or materials far more 
rare and precious, meet on every side the 
eye. Scenes of fable and of history, of joy, 
triumph, battle, and mourning, sculptured 



ROME. 357 

on fragments of relief; and many stones, 
with old inscriptions ; and, here and there, 
the recumbent statue of a river ; old Nile 
with his infant brood, and the far Tigris ; 
also the celebrated Torso by Apollonius of 
Athens, the favourite and constant study of 
the great Michael Angelo. As you pass forth 
from the apartments of the Vatican, these 
wonders of ancient Rome press upon 
the mind, almost with a sense of pain ; 
you think of an empire that sent forth 
its edicts to the banks of the Euphrates, 
and whose eagles glittered in peace on the 
shores of the Western Ocean ; in learning, 
in arts, in arms, so lofty in attainment, that 
we are but too prone to look back to her 
high standard with a vain, and indeed a 
shameful regret. You wonder within your- 
self how she ever rose to a state of such 
power and grandeur, or how, having risen, 
she could ever have declined ! We ascend 
the capitol ; we cross to the Palatine ; we 
look down on the arena of the Circus Max- 
imus, now a vast space of gardens and cul- 
tivated fields : we pass under arches of 

A A 3 



358 ROME. 

triumph, and look up to columns where 
victories and trophies climb, in spiral scrolls 
of marble, so high, that scenes and figures 
are lost to the admiring eye. 

We see the moved pride of Egypt erect 
in many a place, and think with astonish- 
ment on the powers by which the obelisk 
was transported hither. Before many a 
portico and temple we pause with dehght, 
to look at the stately grace of the tall shaft 
and rich capital, and richer cornice. To 
whom,, we ask, to whom was this temple 
dedicated? To Faustina ! and the youth 
of either sex paid their vows at her altar* 
Remind me of some great procession 
here to warm my fancy. — Why, there 
all Rome is flocking to the Palatine ; for 
the black stone of Emesa and the female 
idol of Carthage are to be mystically united, 
and a Roman emperor presides : but this^ 
you say, is a dark, a gloomy period, and 
you point to the avenging soldiery, those 
janizaries whom we never forgive so hear- 
tily, as when they threw this monarch to 
17 



HOME, 359 

the ingulphing Tiber. — The Augustan 
age*: that surely was an age we may ad- 
mire. Why read his life. — Titus the 
people's darling, or the golden age of 
Trajan : we may think with fondness on 
these men and their times. Why come 
again into the Coliseum, and bring with 
vou Childe Harold, and read the following: 
stanzas, presenting to the very eye, a pic- 
ture whicVi I defy yon to look upon witbxout 
a true, an unaffected sorrow : — 

" I see before me the gladiator lie : 

He leans upon his hand — his manly brow 
Consents to death, but conquers agony, 
And his drooped head sinks gradually low ; 
And through his side the last drops ebbing slow 
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one. 
Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now 
The arena swims around him — he is gone, 
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch 
who won. 



That age when 

" Nor war nor battle's sound 
Was heard the world around. 
The idle spear and shield were high uphung ; 

A A 4 The 



360 ROME. 

" He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes 
A^^ere with his heart, and that was far away ; 
He reck'd not of the life he lost, nor prize ; 
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, 
There were his young barbarians all at play, 
TJiere was their Dacian mother — He, their sire 
Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday — 
All this rush'd with his blood. — Shall he expire. 
And unaveng'd ? — Arise ! ye Goths, and glut your ire !"" 

And let us come to the Milvian bridge and 
look for them. — What cry is that ? " Aim 
iat the bay horse/' What noble form is it 
tiiat we gaze upon ? — a Roman, and a true 
one. — " The name of Belisarius can never, 
die." 

Not always was the ancient city thus de- 
fended, and the Goth was often glutted 
with the feast of vengeance. 

But I have done ; you would rather read 
history, and sermonize to yourself, than 
listen to a mere sketcher. 



The hooked chariot stood 
Unstain'd with hostile blood ; 
The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ; 
And kings sat still with awful eye, 
As if thev surelv knew their sovran Lord was br. 



ROME. 361 

I Visited the gallery of the Capitol, where 
may be seen a sibyl, by Guercino, of the 
wildest beauty ! and the raising of Santa 
Petronilla's body from the grave, and the 
ascension of her spirit into heaven ; where 
shadows and lights, the hues of the grave 
and the soft warmth and radiance of the 
opening heaven, are most wonderfully con- 
trasted. 

Among the lesser pleasures of visiting 
these galleries of painting, it is one to mark 
in many scenes and portraits the costume of 
Italy some centuries ago ; and this enables 
you to people many a wild spot in the Ap- 
pennines, and many a cultivated vale, the 
courtyard of the palace, and the market- 
place and square, and the aisles and chapels 
of the vast Basilica, an exercise of the fancy 
delightful and rewarding. 

It is a provoking thing, sometimes, as 
you pause before a beautiful head, to be 
told by the guardian with a shrug, " No- 
thing remarkable;" " school of Raphael."*' 

" Ni-ente, niente — scuola, scuola." 



362 ROME. 

In the Borghese there is a Madonna of the 
school of Raphael. It is a nameless gem 
of beauty ; again and again I came back to 
look upon it : but it wants the magic of a 
name, and you must not pause. There is a 
picture of Raphael's called " The Carry- 
ing," on which you cannot be content with 
gazing. There is a portrait of Raphael 
when a boy, a very interesting one. And 
there are, in the many galleries, forms of 
every age ; the heathen and the sacred ; 
grey hairs, and chesnut ringlets, and dark- 
browed warriors ; and female forms of 
fabled goddesses, and of women, of the 
painter's day, lovely and real, whom you 
cannot look upon without the tribute of a 
passing heart-throb. 

I do not regret that I did not visit Italy 
in early youth. 'Tis well to know the 
world and all its stern realities, and to 
know your sad self before you come this 
" pilgrimage of the heart ;" then sounds and 
sights of beauty may soothe, but cannot 
harm, and we learn to enter into all the 
innocent gladness of the young, and feel 



ROME. 363 

for and with them ; and we think of the 
immortal soul, 

" In early youth, 
Enchanted land she sees ; 
Blue skies and sunbriorht bow'rs 
Reflected, and tall tow'rs. 

On glassy seas. 
But heavy clouds collect 

Over that bright blue sky ; 
And rough winds rend the trees. 
And lash the glassy seas 

To billows high. 
And then the last thing seen 
By that dim light may be 
(With helm and rudder lost) 
A lone wreck tempest- tost 
On the dark sea." 

And then we look up for them and for 
ourselves, to Him, who can make all things 
work together for our good; can charm, 
can wean, can terrify, and save the soul — 
can wipe all tears from all eyes ! 

It does not do, you say, to mix up thus 
the grave and gay. Why is it not thus in real 
life, as we pass along ? How wonderfully va- 
ried are all the thoughts which rise to the 
mind, and the images which flit before the 



364 ROME. 

fancy between every rise and set of sun. I 
never felt this more, I think, than in Italy, 
where, to the natural eye, so much is beauti- 
ful, and to the moral eye, so much is dark 
and sad. The political condition is truly 
affecting — like a female slave, she must 
sing and smile for the chance-master. 

So intimately connected are civil and re- 
ligious liberty, that it is clear as long as the 
papal throne exists, as long as the pontiff 
is a temporal sovereign or prince with an 
isolated state, in the very heart of Italy, 
sacred from the nature of its ruler's crown, 
and by its position, separating the South and 
North, the interests of the various kingdoms 
can never be reconciled in one object, or 
linked by a free and fearless attachment to 
a common cause and glorious union. 

A pope, who could step back into the 
priesthood, and cast away the paltry crown 
he wears, would win for himself a deathless 
fame in history, lay the foundation of a 
great and powerful kingdom, and destroy 
one of the greatest causes of abuse in the 
church over which he rules. 



ROME. 365 



There is a modern ruin in Rome of no 
common magnificence. The famed Basihca 
of Saint Paul contained one hundred 
and twenty columns, taken from ancient 
buildings, of red and grey granite, and of 
beautifully veined marble ; forty of these 
last were thirty-seven feet in height, and 
each shaft, in four and twenty of the num- 
ber, of one piece, the superb decorations of 
the mausoleum of Adrian ; this temple fell 
a prey to a destroying fire three or four 
months before my arrival. One side of the 
vast church, columns and all, presents but a 
mass of rubbish : the roof has fallen in over 
the proud nave, and the remaining columns 
have many of them been cracked and 
broken, and are now re-erected or held 
together by iron cramps ; many other co- 
lumns, which were richly and deeply fluted, 
have been fused (as it were) by the scorch- 
ing flame, and have wasted as would the 
waxen torch : the high altar has not suf- 
fered further than that all around; Mo- 
saic and painting, has been dimmed by the 
dulling smoke, and marbles and ornaments 



366 ROME. 

cracked or broken. Your valet conducts 
you to it mourning — not for his church, 
but for the prostrate columns : you see 
people from the city muttering regrets and 
suspicions ; and divided in the latter be- 
tween the Jew accursed by them and the 
English heretic, of whom some of them 
think no better. They mumble a Pater-- 
noster, give a donation, and go away. The 
ruin is a very fine one. The flames, it 
seems, burst forth at midnight, and before 
the dawn the work of destruction was 
complete. 

Saint John Lateran is a very noble 
church, in the aisle of which you tread 
softly : the huge pilasters, the colossal sta- 
tues of the apostles, the fluted columns 
of gilt bronze, which now support the 
altar of the holy sacrament, and once 
adorned the shrine of Jupiter Capitolinus; 
the noble columns of granite, giallo an- 
tico and verde antique, near the high altar, 
and the baptistery ; the richness of the 
Corsini chapel, w^here the tomb of Agrip- 
pa, the finest sarcophagus in the world, 



ROME. 367 

forms the monument of Clement XIL, are 
objects which detain you and dehght you 
long. They show many relics here with 
which they have for ages imposed upon the 
superstitious. 

I looked upon the obelisk before this 
stately edifice with no common pleasure : 
I had seen its fellow monuments ; had trod 
the courts where it was first reared, and 
from whence, in the pride of victory, it had 
been transported, and with it that dark 
worship, which twice brought down the 
anger of the legislature, and pointed the 
bitter pen of Rome's keenest satirist. Be- 
sides this Basilica, there are others ; and 
churches without number have claim upon 
your admiration ; Santa Maria Maggiore, 
with its Ionic columns of marble, and the 
chapel of the Borghese ; San Pietro in Vin- 
coli, with the celebrated Moses of Michael 
Angelo, a conception as noble and satisfying 
to the mind as any in Rome ; the church 
of Santa Maria degli Angeli, with its stu- 
pendous columns of oriental granite, and 
the fine painting of the martyrdom of San 



368 ROME. 

Sebastian, by Domenichino. In • another 
Santa Maria, there is a statue of our Sa- 
viour, holding the cross, an image of cahii, 
kind, majestic beauty. On a pillar in the 
church of Saint Augustine, is an Isaiah, 
painted by Raphael ; it is a fine thing, but 
I think not of it, as I do of like subjects 
treated by Michael Angelo. Isaiah is a 
prophet, lighted by whose awful page the 
traveller trembles as he treads. 

There are countless, nameless fragments 
of ruin, among which you wander at Rome, 
" stumbling o'er recollections." 

There are many villas and gardens near, 
adorned with those things valued by the 
mind. There are in the modern city, se- 
veral noble fountains, pouring their full 
streams into vast basins : of these, the Fon- 
tana di Trevi, or Acqua Virgine, is a grand 
thing ; Neptune, the shell car, the bold 
horses, the tritons, the masses of rock, and 
the loud and rushing waters, produce a fine 
effect, and in the clear night it is seen to 
great advantage: that of Acqua Felice, 
with the figure of Moses and the Egyptian 



ROME. 369 

lions of basalt, a thing to stand before and 
muse on. The Acqua Paola, which is sup- 
plied by an aqueduct, five and thirty miles 
in length, surprises you by the vast body 
of water which it pours forth. 

The vast dark labyrinth of the baths of 
Titus, with its beauteous frescos, shown by 
the upheld torch ! the immense ruin of 
those of Caracalla ; and out in the green 
fields, the circus of that emperor, the form 
of which is so perfectly preserved, that the 
chariots and the crowds must re-appear to 
you ! the massive round tomb of Metella, 
looking proudly, and perfectly Roman! — 
you visit all these things with the highest 
delight. In the museum of the Capitol how 
many objects crowd to charm you ; how 
the marble stirs you with its strange life — 
all the coldness, but nothing of the horror 
of the grave ; the paleness of the shade, 
but the full form of life, and strength, and 
beauty ! Here is the Dying Gladiator (the 
sculptor and the poet may divide the 
prize) ; and here is a Faun, (not that of 
Rosso Antigo), an Antinous, a Venus, a 

B B 



370 iioME. 

Cupid and Psyche, a little child playing 
with a swattj all of surpassing beauty ; and 
statues numberless, and busts historically '^ 
complete in their long series ; that of Nerva, 
a noble countenance : and out upon the 
hill you may go and stand under the eques- 
trian statue of Marcus Aurelius, and think 
upon the ancient aspect of the capitol ; 
and walk to the statue of Rome triumphant, 
and look upon the Tiber and the Nile 
stretched at her feet, in the calm of will- 
ing tributaries ; and go over to some poor 
man's garden, at the edge of which you 
may see the fall of the Tarpeian rock — a 
something now not formidable: there 
breathe brave men, who, in the confidence 
of strength and youth, would, in the heat 
of battle, leap it down ! 

On the other side too you may pass 
down beneath a church's pavement, to the 
ancient prison called the Mamertine. Here 
they show where St. Peter was confined, 
and relate a legend of a spring that wells 

* With few exceptions. 



ROME, 371 

forth in that dark dungeon. Of all the 
temples which once adorned this hill that 
awed the earth ; the^ antiquary can only 
point doubtingly to one whose columns 
support a church, and tell you that it was 
the temple of Jupiter Feretrius : you climb 
again the tower of the senate house of this 
day ; and looking out, now down into the 
forum ; now round at the seven hills ; and 
where the Tiber flows ; you are made 
mournful. An empire's grave is always an 
awful thing. You thank the lyre, which, 
from its solemn chords, sends forth a deep 
melancholy tone that suits the scene : — 

** The Niobe of nations ! there she stands. 
Childless, and crownless in her voiceless woe^ 
An empty urn within her withered hands, 
Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago ; 
The Scipio's tomb contains no ashes now; 
The very sepulchres lie tenantless 
Of their heroic dwellers : 



* -X- # * * # 

The Goth, the Christian, time, war, flood, and lire^ 
Have dealt upon the seven hill'd city's pride. 
B B 2 



372 RO]ME. 

She saw her glories, star by star, expire^ 
And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride 
Where the car dimb'd the capitol ; 



Alas I the lofty city ! and alas ! 
The trebly hundred triumphs !" 

But I am wrong, I have no right to fill my 
meagre page with quotations from that 
bard, whom all do love to listen to when 
he is sane and sad, and over whose de- 
graded lyre, when with the frightful laugh 
of cruel merriment he sweeps the jarring 
strings, all mourn* 

You pass down from the Capitol between 
statues of Castor and Pollux said to be 
Grecian ; and trophies too are there, of 
Augustus or Trajan ; and at the foot of 
the marble stair are lionesses from some 
Egyptian city. 

It was late and dusk one evening when 
I went to look at the statue of Pompey 
in the Spada palace. All wa& gloomy. 
Theire are other statues, but they are all 
of a common, or small size. I saw and 



ROME. 373 

looked but on that ; the career and fate of 
Pompey ; the triumphs and the fall of 
Cassar ! and the two daggers ; the one all 
steel and blood ; the other, " et tu Brute^^ 
that weapon of a great heart that reached 
and pierced a greater, aye, and struck it 
often after in noisy noon, and in the silent 
night ; all these things by the very laws of 
suggestion, the sight of that statue brings 
to the musing mind. 

The Pantheon is a building, in the very 
centre of which you should stand alone, 
and look round, and up to the blue sky. 
Walk not round its altars, and its busts : 
come out ; it is enough to know that Ra- 
phael sleeps in a worthy tomb. 

The modern city has gates,, and squares, 
and palaces to look at with admiring plea- 
sure. Often should one go into St. Peter's ; 
touch the bronze Jupiter, which, as St. Peter, 
the people worship ; pass round the monu- 
ments, and pause before all of Canova ; his 
Sleeping Lion lives ; go round the subter- 
ranean chapels ; and .then up the spiral 

B B 3 



3'74 HOME. 

staircase to the dome, and on into the balL 
The day I ascended there was a pelting 
rain, and a rushing wind that rung upon 
the brazen ball, and sung round it with a 
loud and fearful music. I lost the fine 
clear view, still it was that showery, gusty 
day that did not quite conceal, but gave all 
objects through a misty haze, with sun- 
beams lighting partially the distant green 
fields, Sound and sight together taken, 
I would not have had it otherwise. 

And now we will leave Rome ; I have 
not seen it I well know. What are four^ 
teen days ? Nothing. Still half the panting 
pilgrims from old England, who have 
duties, calls, and loves at home can spare 
no more ; and leave it as I did, delighted 
and confused with pleasure. Put me in 
" the witness's box," whether ruin, church, 
museum, gallery, statue, or painting, I 
could bear no examination ; answer nought, 
perhaps, correctly j yet have I seen, and 
am thankful to have seen, Roma and Rome. 
I have slaked my long thirst, and. Reader, 



ROME. 375 

if you are one like-minded,, and may, and 
can go this pilgrimage, why, away with yoiu 
If fettered by the detail of daily occupations, 
why, recollect the time may come ; it did 
to me. If happier, a man with wife and 
children, and a blessed fire-side, why, take 
my free confession, that, though travelling 
has its pleasures, it hath also many a pang. 
You see smiles, joys, affections all around 
you : you arrive and pass away expected 
and regretted by no one ; and if you feel a 
little atmosphere of affection necessary to 
breathe in, why, you must create one that 
you know and feel to be false by the paltry 
coin which buys the beggar's blessing, and 
the children's smile, and the readier service 
of a worthless knave. 

I left Rome for Florence in a vettura. 
As far as Cortona, I had, for one of my 
travelling companions, an Italian, a pro- 
fessor of the college of Sienna, who proved 
a very agreeable companion. He was 
returning from Naples, whither he had 
been on a tour of pleasure. He spoke 
B B 4 



376 



KOME. 



French fluently, and read English with 
perfect ease and a full apprehension of his 
author, but could not converse in it. He 
had Lady Morgan's Italy with him, and the 
work of Mr. Forsyth : I had seen neither^ 
The latter I read during the nights at the 
inn ^yith delight. 

In the cabriolet of our vehicle were two 
Hungarians, neither of whom spoke Italian 
or French ; they were students in a college 
at Vienna, and had employed a long vaca- 
tion in a visit to Rome and Naples. They 
were coarse common-looking young men, 
very cheerful, and very self-denying. When- 
ever we halted for the mid-day refreshment, 
they walked on, purchasing, as they passed 
through the market, some bread and wine, 
which they carried on to the first shady tree, 
and there awaited us. They both spoke 
Latin with fluency, and I was much de- 
lighted with the honesty of my Italian com- 
panion, who told me one of them had com- 
plained to him that, when he left Vienna, it 
was with a sanguine confidence that Latin 
would serve him, all through Italy, in his 



ROME. 377 

visits to colleges, convents, churches, mu- 
seums, and libraries ; whereas, he found 
none able to keep up a conversation in that 
language for fiv^e minutes on any, even the 
simplest subjects. The professor confessed 
that, although he himself held the Latin 
chair, from want of practice, he found the 
young Hungarian far more " aufaif^ in the 
choice and arrangement of his words, and 
that his unhesitating promptitude of speech, 
in Latin, was surprising. 

These vetturini travel slowly ; I used 
often to get out and walk ; with one of 
these students I trod many a mile in that 
social silence with which it is pleasant to 
pass through beautiful scenery. It was an 
interesting thing to look on two youths of 
twenty undertaking and completing a tour 
under such circumstances. It is, however, 
very rare to meet German travellers who 
are not, in every way, highly qualified for 
the task of journeying in Italy. 

The road from Rome to Florence is all 
beautiful. The site of Civita Castellana is 
very romantic — ravine, rock, river, bridge. 



SjIS ROME. 

grey walls — all those things which inhabit- 
ants disregard and travellers love ; the 
tumbling torrent of the Velino, which falls 
in a vast glassy flashing volume, from 200 
to 300 feet before it breaks in thunder, and 
from its bed of furious foam, rolls fiercely 
on, is unequalled as an image of strength 
— sublime, resistless. I saw it in every 
point of view — the rocks around, the val- 
ley of the Nera, with the rugged heights 
above, all are in keeping with the scene. It 
is felt, cannot be described, and is never 
forgotten. You pass a wild narrow valley, 
and cross the lofty Somma to Spoleto, near 
which place you see convents, hill, wood, 
and white cottages. The temple of Cli- 
tumnus ; the vale it waters ; Foligno; Peru- 
gia ; the lake Thrasymene, broad, shining, 
and still ; and the valley of Chiana, flat, 
fertile, all parcelled fields, and rows of tall 
trees, and white farm-houses, with arched 
entrances below, and open, square, pillared 
galleries above, are the features through 
which you journey to Florence. Still may 
you see oxen beautiful enough for the gar- 



ROME. 379 

land and the sacrificial knife, in the valley 
of the Clitumnus. At Spoleto and Perugia 
there are many objects of passing interest. 
We stopped for two hours at a small huU 
albergo in that vale, where the African 
rushed down upon the startled Roman, and 
I enjoyed a ramble on the famous ground. 

On my return, while we were waiting for 
some refreshment, I observed several scrib- 
blings on the wall, by French and English 
travellers, complaining, some angrily, some 
with humour, of their bad fare in this poor 
hamlet. At this, some Italian had taken 
great umbrage, and had written up a short 
lecture beginning, " Vol Francesi infamij e 
vol Inglesi spilorci^' ;^ . . . that spilorci is 
too bad. However, he sensibly enough re- 
minds people that they must not expect, in 
Italian villages, the accommodations of 
London and Paris. In a small country inn, 
the night before we entered Florence, I 
found as good fare, as good wine, as clean 



* Sordid, mean. 



380 FLORENCE. - 

a chamber, and as civil attendance as in any 
place from Naples to London. 

The peasants in Tuscany have a freer 
happier look, and are far better clothed than 
those of the Roman states ; but what is 
said about their personal beauty, and the 
picturesque costume, is, I think, a little 
overcharged. I saw them, on a holiday- 
sabbath, near Florence, and was not much 
struck with the appearance they presented. 

As you descend the hill, coming out of the 
upper vale of the Arno, Florence, with its 
dome and campanile^ and the tall tower of 
the palace ; churches and large buildings ; 
its wide neighbourhood of gardens and 
casinos ; and its fair river, does burst upon 
you with a very attractive and charming 
aspect. The town itself is all cheerfulness, 
cleanliness, and health. It was cold clear 
weather when I was there, and everything 
looked bright and brilliant. It must be a 
delightful residence for persons of a certain 
taste and habit of mind ; but it is evident, 
at the first glance, that there are numbers 
of Englishmen yawning away their lives in 



FLORENCE, 381 

the reading-room at Florence, who do not 
care a straw about all that this Athens, as 
they call it, contains, and who would be far 
happier in club-rooms, coffee-rooms, or cir- 
culating Hbraries, at home. One of the 
most unpleasant features in Florence is the 
aspect of this colony ; feeling perfectly a 
citizen of the world, in all common habits, 
myself, I yet think that the Englishman is, 
as a resident, misplaced altogether in Italy, 
without he has a positive and absorbing pur- 
suit, or is a man of hermit habits, living, 
in all places, much to himself, and loving 
the country for her skies, her suns, and her 
bright scenery. 

One of the first things that attracted my 
eye in Florence, and which I consider as an 
edifice unique, was the Palazzo Strozzi — 
a mass of stone ; each stone presenting a 
point like the raised head of a huge square 
post, and giving a rude rough surface of dark 
and frowning strength. 

The square of the old palace, with its 
equestrian statue ; its fountain ; its fine 
statues at the palace-gate, and those under 



382 FLORENCE. 

the noble open portico, called the Loggia ; 
the arcades of the great gallery, and the 
stately building above ; combined with the 
singularly bold height of that narrow tower 
over the palace, which throws out a spread- 
ing turretted top, that seems fearfully sup- 
ported, present a new and fine scene ; the 
only eye-sore in which is the Neptune in 
the fountain, whose colossal figure is neither 
suited to the size of the square, the basin 
of the fountain, or the body of water in it. 
The quays of Florence, her Arno, her 
bridges, especially that della Trinit a, and 
the fine buildings on the right bank, toge- 
ther with the view down the river, are all 
pleasing to the eye. The duoino or cathe- 
dral, with its casing of white marble and 
green stone, its lofty cupola, and marble 
lanthorn, together with its detached campa^ 
nile or bell tower, incrusted in like manner, 
and rising to a height of 280 feet, produce 
an effect upon the beholder astonishing; 
and he walks round this square, which these 
buildings literally fill, and into the dark 
cathedral, and ascends the campanile won- 



FLORENCE. 383 

dering at the labour which produced such 
monuments. There is also a small chapel 
or baptistry in this square, dedicated to 
St. John, the Baptist, octagonal in form, and 
rising octagonally to a pointed top. It has 
three folding doors of bronze, figured in 
high relief. It is said to have been a tem- 
ple of Mars. 

There are many beautiful and stately 
churches in Florence. In that of Santa 
Croce is the tomb of Michael Angelo: 
awed, wherever we go, in Rome or Flo- 
rence, by some monument of his genius, 
we learn, with a smile, that his family felt 
his pursuits, as an artist, degrading to them. 
But thus it ever was, and will be ; I know 
not how it is ; thousands totally free from 
any prejudice so senseless, yet feel a won- 
der that the warmth of human genius should 
carry it so triumphantly through all the cold 
and dull details of slow toil and nice labour 
in the dusty workshop of the sculptor. In 
the sacristy of the church of San Lorenzo, 
there are the tombs of two of that great 
family, the Medici; both designed by 

21 



384 FLORENCE. 

Michael Angelo, and adorned with statues, 
of which Day and Night, recumbent figures, 
have been struck out by his creative chisel, 
with great force and power. Twilight and 
Daybreak are personified on the other tomb ; 
and, in a small chapel near, is a group of a 
Madonna and Child, left unfinished. 

Near the church of San Lorenzo is the 
celebrated chapel of the Medici, designed 
as a mausoleum for the princes of that fa- 
mily. It is octangular, and six sides have 
already their vast sarcophagi of granite : 
jasper, agate, lapis lazuli, profusely adorn 
this splendid mansion of the dead. Two 
statues of bronze, and- regal crowns on 
cushions of red jasper, are among the finish- 
ed w^onders ; but the chapel never has been, 
probably never will be, completed : bare 
bricks, scaffoldings, canvas curtains, and 
ladders, dust and workmen, speak of some 
effort to finish the splendid design ; but the 
most sanguine cicerone^ as he tells you that 
twenty years will be required to effect the 
object proposed, shakes his head with a 
doubt, which a corresponding shake from 



FLORENCE. 385 

your own head helps to confirm. My taste 
may be bad, but I think I have seen a mo- 
nument of greater magnificence and a more 
chaste splendour than this ever would have 
been ; although, to be sure, in it there are 
no huge sarcophagi or bronze statues — I 
mean the Taaje Mahal on the plains of 
Agra. I never saw, anywhere in Italy, 
mosaic-work of flower-patterns at all to be 
compared with the designs which fill that 
beauteous and costly dome. 

For the marbles employed in this cha- 
pel, I do not think them superior to those 
I have seen in Sicily. 

It is impossible to say of a gallery, which 
contains what the gallery of Florence con- 
tains, that it is disappointing ; but in the 
arrangement of its treasures, I do think 
there is much to blame. Statues and paint- 
ings should never, surely, be so disposed 
in relation to each other for the purposes 
of exhibition. Another thing is, that al- 
though by a most liberal arrangement, the 
gallery is open daily to the public, yet, by 
a defective caution combined with it, cer- 

c 



386 FLORENCE. 

tain halls and cabinets are kept locked, and 
opened in succession once every two hours, 
by a man who leads round the collected 
flock of fond gazers, or gaping sight seers, 
and turns you into the hall of Niobe, and 
out again, before the eye or mind are half 
satisfied. I got half a dozen of these snatch- 
ing visits to that wonderful group. The 
day before I left, as the man saw that I 
always lingered, he promised me that the 
next time I came, if I did not object to 
being shut in among those marble mourners, 
he would arrange to leave me there for two 
hours alone. As I left Florence, I went no 
more ; but I have not forgotten that mo- 
ther, and her darling youngest daughter ; 
I have heard these two figures criticised—- 
I criticised them — but it was with — a tear! 

The cabinet called the Tribune, is always 
open, and generally half full. 

If the Venus de Medici is ill placed here, 
which I certainly think she is, she, at least, 
enjoys one pure triumph. The warm Ve- 
nuses of Titian suspended above, are glanced 
at, but disregarded. The eye is attracted 



FLORENCE. 387 

and enchained in its fond admiring gaze, 
to the marble form below : it is the triumph 
of art — it is the most beautiful personifi- 
cation of modesty in the world ! It conveys 
an idea of what created woman first was ; 
it has a delicate shrinking grace, before 
which the libertine would stand awed, and 
which asks from man the ready homage of 
his heart and mind, in all the protecting 
dignity of his nature. 

In sculpture, in painting, in gems, in 
bronzes, there are wonders here far too 
numerous to even enter upon* The figure, 
called the Apollino, is full of grace : the 
Wrestlers, the Slave sharpening the knife, 
(to which, I think, no character or ac- 
count has at all been made applicable), and 
the Faun, are all in their way surprising 
works ; but the Venus, stand where you 
will, calls back your wandering eye, and 
rivets it anew ; if you look long and fixedly 
on it, it gives a dimness to your deceived 
sight as a moving form. 

Among many pictures of a superior beau- 
ty, one by Daniel de Volterra, a Massa- 

c c 2 



388 FLORENCE. 

ere of the Innocents, struck me as quite a 
poem of horror. He has treated the sub- 
ject so differently from others, that although 
the fine painting of Guido seems insepar- 
ably connected, in our minds, with that 
awful event, as painters have been per- 
mitted to image it forth, still you are deep- 
ly affected by it. There is one figure, a 
mother holding, recumbent in her arms, a 
babe with his throat cut ; her aspect of wild 
woe the poet could not paint in words. 

There is a small picture in the third cor- 
ridor, by a Flemish master, very remark- 
able from the awful kind of satire it con- 
tains : in the foreground you have a bus- 
tling market scene, very rich in groups 
and figures ; you have buying, selling, quar- 
relling, drinking; the bawling and squab- 
bling you can literally see : you have in 
the streets behind, persons going in every 
direction, either on their business, or pur- 
suing their pleasure ; among other objects 
you see a common cart, drawn by a wretch- 
ed horse, with two soldiers in it, and a 
coarse-dressed man, and they have a large 



FLORENCE. 389 

cross of beams of wood in the cart ; in a 
back corner of the picture, the Saviour of 
the world is shown to the people from the 
vestibule of Pilate's palace, and a very 
small inconsiderable crowd is collected : all 
these distant figures are in perspective, and 
of course, insignificantly small. 

And thus it was, and is, and will be 
long. There was a monk in Florence once, 
Savonarola, put to death, I think, as an 
agitator and a fanatic. To him they attri- 
bute the loss of many paintings, which, by 
his eloquent appeals to their possessors, he 
caused to be delivered to the flames. They 
were all subjects which he considered to be 
inflaming to the passions, and a dishonour 
to the art. Certain it is, that there are 
many pictures, and some statues (the Ve- 
nus at Naples, for example), which still 
exist in the great collections ; subjects on 
which we regret to see that art has been so 
successful, and may be so dangerous. It is 
a circumstance greatly to be rejoiced at^ 
that painting was more particularly em- 
ployed on sacred subjects ; and I am of 
c c 3 



390 FLORENCE. 

opinion that many a traveller leaves Italy, 
impressed by the contemplation of them, 
with feelings which may awaken thought, 
stimulate inquiry, and lead eventually, 
through God's blessing, to lasting happi- 
ness of mind. 

Of the numerous portraits of beauty pre- 
sented to the eye in the various galleries, 
it is true, that some will rise again to the 
imagination, and hang about the solitary 
heart ; but they are soon shaken off by the 
cares, the calls, and duties of life ; but it is 
not so with the scenes of death, and sorrow, 
and suffering: the mourning Magdalen, 
apostolic martyrs, bright angels, and the 
higher and more awful mysteries, and their 
sad, yet glorious consummation on the 
cross, remain as assisting visions to the eye 
of Faith and Hope. The gallery in the 
Pallazzo Pitti is uncommonly rich : there 
are some splendid pieces from the hand of 
Raphael, and other great masters. One of 
the pictures most remarkable in its charac- 
ter, is " The Fates," by Michael Angelo ; 
their withered, skinny forms, their wrinkled 



FLORENCE. 391 

cheeks, and still eyes, are wonderfully con- 
ceived. The Venus of the great Canova 
should not be at Florence. I may be wrong, 
but I think that artist wished to combine 
the beauties of the Venus de Medici, and 
those of the Callipiga, at Naples : he has 
produced a wonderful work, but he has 
failed, even with the garment, to make it 
so modest as the former ; and though it is 
more chaste in conception, it is certainly 
not so beautiful in form or execution as the 
latter. 

The walks about Florence are very de- 
lightful, especially that down the river on 
the opposite side to the public promenade ; 
also in the gardens of Boboli, which are 
large enough for rambling in ; and in the 
more public parts, have fountains (one 
very handsome) and statues, and an attic 
air. 

From the Casino, too, and also from 
many of the hills round Florence, you have 
charming views ; but in some directions you 
have to go far between stone walls, in nar- 
row lanes, and at last have to bow and 

c c 4 



392 FLORENCE, 

blunder your way into a vineyard to get the 
view you want. 

A walk through the squares and streets 
of Florence, and down its quays, and on 
its bridges by the moon's light, is a some- 
thing which will give you shadows of beau- 
ty and of grandeur to be long remembered. 

There are many, many objects to visit, 
which I saw as others do, and name not : 
there is a very fine museum of natural his- 
tory, with some cabinets of anatomical sub- 
jects in wax, executed with a fidelity which 
shocks ; there are two scenes of the horrors 
of the plague, done in like mannei% but on 
a small scale ; I stood some time before 
them with a half shudder, and walked out 
into the cheerful sun with a thankful 
feeling. 

You cross the Appenines to Bologna. I 
went with a vetturinoy and had only one 
companion, a professor in mathematics. I 
certainlj^ found him no prodigy on other 
subjects ; and I cannot but suspect, that 
the youngest wrangler at Cambridge would 
have been more than a match for him on 

20 



FLORENCE. ^ 393 

his own ground, if I may judge from the 
sad stuff he talked on a dozen different 
matters. The road abounds in views of a 
very majestic and beautiful character. 

We stopped for the night at a rustic 
inn, on the summit of the Appenines : we 
found two voitures there before us ; and on 
entering the room, I immediately recog- 
nised an Englishman, as I thought, for he 
spoke to me with a good accent — he proved 
a Russian. There was also a large dark- 
looking man, wrapped in a long Turkish 
robe, trimmed with fur ; he told me he 
was an Armenian merchant, from Constan- 
tinople : there were three Frenchmen, four 
common Italian travellers, two Itahan la- 
dies, young, good-looking, and playing the 
attractive and the smihng ; and among all 
these, was an unfortunate EngUshman, of 
about five-and-twenty, a commercial tra- 
veller, as I guessed, by his manner and 
language, but not at all of the intelligent 
cast you generally meet in such employ, 
without language or tact : there was an 
excellent fire, hot nothings for supper^ 



894 FLORENCE. 

but a most entertaining evening for an ob- 
server ; and angry nobody could be at the 
fare, waited on as we were, by three sisters, 
who really, grouped into a picture, would 
be most flattering specimens of the beauty 
of Italian peasants. 

The view of Bologna, as you come down 
upon.it, has much of rich interest to the 
eye. The tall, narrow, square towers, stand- 
ing like two lofty minars above the dark 
city ; the handsome gardens and dwellings 
on the low hills close to it ; and the wide 
plain of wood, evidently not forest, but 
the more thinly-scattered trees of a culti- 
vated and adorned country, are the objects 
you look upon in your cheerful descent. 
Bologna has to the quiet man a very pleasing 
aspect ; I like its long porticoes ; I like the 
look and character of countenance among 
the people; the fountain, with that noble 
bronze Neptune, by John of Bologna; I like 
all those stalls, and the figures seen at 
them, under the arcades near the large 
market square ; I observed some muleteers 
in regular muleteer garb ; and the sausages 



BOLOGNA. 395 

hanging up in many a shop, or those thicker 
ones, cut into, and showing the marbled 
dainty on which the cook and housewife of 
Bologna pride themselves : I like that dark 
Gothic church, St. Petrone, and the tall 
tower of the Asinelli, and the leaning one 
near it. In short, Bologna is a place where, 
in spite of round hats, high collars, boots 
and trowsers, and shock heads of hair, in 
the coffee-rooms, you can easily conjure 
up the past (not at all with regret, but) as 
an amusement. 

From my visits to its noble gallery I 
received uncommon gratification. There 
are two large apartments filled with master 
pieces ; they are well known, and admit 
not of description. I think that the Ma- 
donna del Rosario of Domenichino is one of 
the finest pictures there, or in Italy. I 
have it not perfect in my memory ; but 
the pale and beautifully expressed terror 
of the two females ; the dark steed and 
the gleamy armour of the persecutor ; the 
kneeling saint ; the open heaven ; and, at 
the foot of the picture, in the fore ground, 



396 BOLOGNA. 

the two little infants in their fond and 
pretty struggle ; — these things pass not 
from the memory. 

The celebrated Santa Cecilia of Raphael, 
the Massacre of the Innocents by Guido, 
and the St. Bruno of Guercino, are among 
the treasures of this gallery. 

In the Palazzo Zambeccari are many 
fine pictures, though not in the highest 
preservation. 

It is pleasant to be able to walk, nearly 
three miles, forth from this city under 
cover ; it ought to rain of course, and it did 
the day I walked up the long portico ; I 
only met two students spouting out of a 
book, and one beggar. The walls have 
many scribbles in charcoal, chalks, and pen- 
cil ; some are short bursts of patriotism ; 
some laughs at the priests ; and the longest 
are records of devotion, and penance, or 
declarations of love from despairing swains. 

The chapel of the Madonna de San 
Luca was not open : the views from it 
must be beautiful. 

The famous Campo Santo, once the 



BOLOGNA. 397 

Certosa convent, I am glad to have seen ; 
but, it is, by no means, so beautiful or 
interesting a thing as I had expected. 
Three-fourths of the monuments, or me- 
morials, are nothing more than designs of 
tombs, executed on the walls in fresco^ 
and generally of a pale leaden colour. 

In the outer square there is a large green 
plot, with no tombs or memorials in the 
cloister behind. Children of tender a^es 
are all buried in that spot. There is some- 
thing very hallowed, to my mind, in the 
grave of a little child. I was better pleased 
to see the green grass growing over those 
young things 

" Just shown on earth, and hurried to the tomb," 
than with all the rest. 

I was only three days in Bologna : I could 
have lingered there many more contented- 
ly. I had a strange rencontre here at tiie 
table d'hote. There sat next me the very 
first evening an Englishman, an officer of 
engineers, going, out to India by the very 
route by which I had returned, and I was 



398 BOLOGNA. 

able to assure him that the journey was 
neither an enterprise, nor an effort. 

The going out iiowever may prove more 
troublesome, and be subject to greater in- 
conveniences than the coming home ; but 
as to danger or serious difficulty, there is 
none : women and children have performed 
the journey with ease. The only chances 
of being unpleasantly situated are passing 
through lower Egypt during the season of 
the plague, or finding yourself at Cairo 
during any great public event ; such as the 
death of the Pasha, a change of government, 
or a mutiny among the troops. 

There was also an English gentleman at 
table that evening of whom I saw no more 
afterwards, as he went away the following 
morning, who amused and made me angry 
by his account of his disappointment in 
Venice ; and this was his strange reason — 
" Venice," said he, " is a most uninterest- 
ing place ; why I knew it as well as I do 
now before I saw it ; it is just what the 
prints represent it : there it is, every stone, 
just as you may see it, without leaving 



BOLOGNA. 399 

London." Now, with ninety-nine men 
out of a hundred, that perfect preservation 
of its ancient aspect, as known to us in 
earher Hfe, and looked upon in the old 
engravings, would add very largely to the 
delight with which it would be visited. 

This gentleman was bound for Florence, 
Rome, and Naples. I fear, that, if he has 
made the tour of all print gazers, and visited 
Colnaghi's, Ackerman's, and Hurst and 
Robinson's, he will be doomed to disap- 
pointment, journey where he may. 

Ferrara is a melancholy city; very melan- 
choly. The two principal streets are long 
and wide, with a pavement on each side, 
smoothly flagged, and there are, in one, 
rows of stone posts, to protect the path of 
foot passengers. There are numbers of 
palaces, spacious and many-windowed, with 
arched gateways below, and proud cornice 
above. There are long narrow streets in 
other parts of this fair city ; in these the 
grass grows long, but the planted foot 
treads on the hard, round paving pebbles. 
Monasteries too, and convents open upon 



400 • BOLOGNA. 

them : but the convent bells are silent ; 
no monk comes forth from the gate ; no 
beggar lies under the wall. There is no 
hoof-clatter on the paved streets ; there 
are no beautiful women looking from the 
windows ; no handsome horsemen riding 
by unbonnetted ; no ribboned jennets in 
the court yards ; no silken tapestries hang- 
ing from the balconies. You cannot but 
feel sad as you walk about this city, " whose 
symmetry was not for solitude." 

You cannot but think of her holidays, 
and her happiness ; her bright eyes, and 
cheerfid voices ; and in truth, the city 
looks as if it only wanted its inhabitants 
back, to resume, in a moment, all its 
attractions. 

I had only four hours happy rambling 
in this place. I did not see the tomb of 
Ariosto, his chair, or inkstand, for the 
librarian chanced to be out of the way. I 
should have been well pleased to have seen 
them, though perhaps I had no right to 
the gratification, for I never read a line of 
Ariosto, and never may. 



1 



FERRARA. 401 

The cell of Tasso is a spot of very deep 
interest ; it is the fate of Tasso we sorrow 
over, as a lover and a bard, imprisoned for 
his harmless frenzy, and singing, silently, 
in his sad cell to a mute and visionary 
lyre. 

Moreover his Lament we have, a beau- 
tifully sustained flight which Tasso's self 
had wept to hear. 

Surveying this narrow prison, I felt 
more deeply than in any other spot in 
Italy my ignorance of her poetry; the 
melody of the native strain, the full 
force of southern images, and of the de- 
scriptive adjuncts, in use of old, even 
the ablest translator can never perfectly 
convey. 

Let not, however, the mere construer rest 
satisfied in the complacency of attainment, 
and smile at a traveller who cannot quote 
Dante, or Petrarch, Ariosto, or Tasso. I 
leave such a one to struggle with the Divina 
Commedia and his dictionary, while I go 
to a translation, and thank learning and 

D D 



402 PADUA. 

genius for their labours, and the fruits of 
them. 

Nothing can look more dull than the 
gate by which you leave Ferrara, and the 
ruinous grassy walls, and the still sedgy 
ditch ; but you soon find yourself among 
trees, and vines, and corn. You soon 
reach the banks of the Po, and are driven 
on to a floating bridge. It had but just 
been repaired when I was there. The Po 
was strong and turbid after its furious 
swellings ; driving some miles on the other 
side, we had to embark, carriage and all, in 
a boat, and were conveyed nearly five miles 
across fields, over gardens and orchards, 
and among the branches of trees, and past 
country houses, and cottages, with their 
lower apartments flooded. I slept at 
Rovigo, and the next day passed the Adige 
in my route to Padua. I spent two days 
in Old Padua. It is a place where I 
could for many weeks have lingered, I 
think it suited to a reading, sauntering 
man. There are long arcades, and there 
18 



PADUA. 403 

are old-fashioned houses, and old-fashioned 
furniture, and book-stalls at the street 
corners. There is a pleasant river, and 
there are green gardens, and turfy ramparts, 
and the snowy Alps to be seen from them. 
The building of the university is very 
small ; has a court with a cloister below, 
and galleries above ; on the walls are many 
coats of arms of those who have studied 
at learned Padua. You may look into the 
bare and empty schools ; at the time I was 
there, it was a season of vacation, and very 
few students were to be seen in the city. 

In the centre of a large open space, or 
square, there is an adorned spot called 
Prato della Valle. It is a circular meadow, 
with flagged walks, with a small canal 
round it* ; on either bank of this canal 
are placed the statues of all the famous 
men who were taught at Padua. This is- 
land promenade having seats, and shrubs, 



* The entrance and issuing forth of its waters con- 
cealed under bridges. 

D D 2 



404 PADUA. 

and ornamental monuments, and vases, 
and magically guarded all around, by these 
silent protectors of the fame of Old Padua, 
is a pleasant place to stroll in. You will 
meet no one, and may talk to yourself un- 
observed ; indeed you may do that any- 
where in Italy, for moving lips, and the 
gestures of delight or disappointment, as 
men walking alone express those feelings, 
excite no astonishment in Italy. 

The church of Santa Giustina in a 
corner of this square, is a noble building, 
and the interior, light and grand. As you 
look at four large, and four smaller cupolas 
from without, 'tis mosque-like, and the 
great nave within, is three hundred and 
sixty feet in length, and of a width and 
loftiness corresponding. 

The church of St. Antonio, the tutelar 
saint, is a curious old Gothic edifice, with 
pictures, tombs, shrines, four organs, and, 
when I was in it, a most numerous con- 
gregation ; after mass, the crowd of country 
devotees came flocking to the chapel of 



PADUA. 405 

the sanctuary, where the relics of St. An- 
tonio are preserved, and kissed every statue, 
and small relief around. There is an eques- 
trian statue in bronze near this church, of 
a Venetian general ; and there is a college 
near, with fresco paintings by Titian and 
his school, representing the life and mira- 
cles of St. Anthony. 

They show you a curious old house, 
which they call that of the great Livy. This 
can no more be swallowed by the greediest 
hunter after recollections and sensations 
than the tomb of Antenor in another street. 
Livy's house is, however, just such a one 
as an old lover of black letter books would 
like for his dwelling. One of the finest 
and most singular buildings here, is the 
large hall in the Palace of Justice. I have 
no idea how to describe this curious old 
place. It is three hundred feet long, and 
one hundred broad, and very lofty, yet 
is there no pillar or column to support the 
roof The walls are painted in small com- 
partments, with curious scenes and symbols. 
There is a monument here to the memory 

D D 3 



406 PADUA. 

of Livy ; and one to a chaste matron, who 
defended her honour to the death about 
two centuries ago: at the bottom of the 
hall are two Egyptian statues, black and 
lion-headed, the gifts of Belzoni to his 
native city. But for the bold impulses of 
his nature, and his fearless following of 
them, Belzoni might have lived and died 
shaving beards in Padua. 

There are many other things to see here; 
two rivers flow through the town ; there 
are squares with porticoes ; there are the 
remains of the ancient city's walls ; there 
are some handsome gates ; and as the space 
within the later fortifications (now all neg- 
lected) is large, you find gardens, and al- 
most country houses within the gates. 
Every thing a man might require to make 
life easy, would be procurable at Padua, 
and such men as love that old book " Bur- 
ton's Anatomy of Melancholy" might carry 
it with them to a quiet lodging in Padua, 
and sit in the shade and eat grapes in the 
summer, and pile up a wood-fire, and drink 
good wine in the winter, and live in peace. 



PADUA. 407 

I am only speaking to college hermits, 
or antiquarians, or weavers of old tales ; 
solitary forlorn men, unwedded, and with- 
out professions, or health for active life ; 
such, I am sure I do not err, such men 
would like Padua. 

On the road to Monselice, we met many 
peasants, coming from some fair or market: 
some of the women wore that little round 
fly-away straw hat; others, braided hair, 
with ribbons, and ornamental combs and 
pins ; quite operatic is that little hat ; 
but oh ! how the stage flatters ; these dear, 
ruddy, healthy, cheerful country girls, might 
any one have made three di^icdite figurantes ; 
and, as for dancing, the wooden shoed 
Amazons of Cumberland tread lightly to 
them. Your road passes for many miles 
from Dolo to Fusina, where you take boat, 
along the banks of the Brenta. It is a 
most cheerful way; the villages are numer- 
ous and populous ; and though the country 
palaces, and smaller elegant casinos of the 
merchant are falling to decay, they look 
very pretty ; many of them are inhabited, 

D D 4 



408 



VENICE. 



and those that are not, are just such places 
as a cheerful elegant family might hire for 
a season, and would soon restore to com- 
fort. 

On the road down, a gentleman, a Vene- 
tian, who was in the carriage with me, bade 
the driver stop, and pointing across the 
river to a country palace, the steps of 
which descended to the water, made me 
remark, in a false window, the portrait of a 
female playing on the guitar ; " That paint- 
ing," said he, " is by Titian ; and for the pa- 
lace, I forget whether it was of the Falieri or 
the Foscarini families, I think the former;" 
and thus it is among sites and scenes which 
prepare the mind, that you run on, till 
turning across a flat, barren^ dull, and 
marshy flat, you drive down upon Fusina, 
and see, some five miles out, upon the still, 
calm ocean, a glittering city, towers, and 
proud cupolas, and masses of buildings, 
here brick, there stone, parts lighted by the 
sun, others in broad shadow ; but there 
are no fields, no hills, or gardens with tall 
trees, around this city ; nothing, but rising 



VENICE. 409 

on the left, far away, a wall of snowy Alps 

which bound the horizon with icy solitudes 

impassable. You look again at the city, 

surely it is anchored there by magic ; a 

spot for pleasure, and for peace ; safe from 

the trampling war horse; beyond the reach 

of armies and their murderous engines ; it 

is some heaven-defended isle of freedom. 

Such is the aspect of Venice from the 

distant shore. Here at Fusina, gondolas 

are always plying. How strange to the 

English eye these light, black skiffs, and 

the awning of black cloth with such tufts 

as would mark a hearse- boat on the 

Thames. Maskers and merriment, guitars 

and beauties, surely they were never borne 

about in barks so gloomy. Yes, and the 

barks, in form and furniture, are the only 

moving things in Venice, that look now as 

they looked in her proud and happy day ; 

the gondolier is not, in garb or song, what 

you would still expect to find him — not 

even dressed like a boatman. I have seen 

them in the old rusted cast-off hats of Ita- 



410 VENICE. 

]ian shop boys, in trowsers or pantaloons, 
not sailor-like in colour, width, or mate- 
rials, purchased at some stall of cast-ofF 
clothes ; the private gondoliers wear live- 
ries, generally narrow made, and shabby. 
Some of the gondoliers are exceptions, 
and plain cheerful sailors in look and dress j 
but there is no costume to mark the race, 
and our wherry-man at Westminster Bridge, 
is a more picturesque figure than any of 
them. 

The seats and cushions in this coffin- 
like cabin, are very commodious; all, how- 
ever, funereal in colour, yet is there some- 
thing in the large sliding windows of the 
richest and clearest plate glass, that has a 
costly cheerful air. 

It was a fine, sunny, yet cold day, and 
my companion drew forward his window 
to skreen him from the wind; yet was 
every object seen so clearly, that a water- 
dog would have leaped through it un- 
doubtedly. 

It was a season when the waters in all 
the canals were high, and stirred, and 



VENICE. 411 

freshened. Except in one small point, 
where there is a garden, you have nothing 
to mark summer or winter. I was six days 
in Venice, and the sun shone brightly all the 
time : it was any month then that my fancy 
chose to make it. After a rapid gliding 
down the Lagunes, we entered this noise- 
less, gateless city, by one of its narrow 
water streets, and shot past doors and 
thresholds, and the step on the canal's edge, 
dead brick walls, and out-looking windows. 
We did not see many persons, and I did 
not hear any voices ; it was a poor, decay- 
ing, depopulated quarter ; but I shall never 
forget my delight, as we came out into the 
grand canal, just at a part where stands 
that palace, with its strangely ornamented 
front, all clustering little columns, and 
pointed windows, gothic-like, and a bal- 
cony of stone, and portal, and spacious 
steps below. " The name. Gondolier, of 
that palace ?" " the Foscari, signor," and 
then he will point right and left of this 
broad and liquid highway, and utter noble 
names, and point to noble dwellings ; we 



412 VENICE. 

soon turned again, and at a small wooden 
platform, near a back door, he stopped. 
" The signor is arrived," and he stepped 
out, and I after him, and a French waiter 
came, quieter than such men generally are, 
and in one minute I was in my chamber, 
and my shell (that is my portmanteau), 
with me ; a fire, a home, all without trou- 
ble or noise ; no stable yard, no bawling ; 
a city without any of the sounds that be- 
long to cities. While my dinner was pre- 
paring, I set out for St. Mark's Place, got 
kindly directed through the narrow clean- 
paved alleys, and soon found myself oppo- 
site that unique temple, with its Byzantine 
cupolas, and glittering mosaics. I walked 
across, now pausing to look at the noble 
buildings all around, and the porticoes 
beneath ; now at the tall tower, whose bell 
was once a proud state's solemn voice ; 
now, at the rich Gothic front of the ducal 
palace, as it broke upon me, and the two 
ancient columns, and the winged lion in 
the smaller square; and then up to where, 
in crested pride, on the high front of St. 



VENICE. 413 

Mark's church, stand those horses, which 
have looked down on Corinth, Rome, and 
Constantinople, and which I have seen 
yoked in my day to a car of victory beyond 
the Alps, looking down on the capital of 
Gaul ; and now the trophies of the Aus- 
trian, won for Mm by the arrayed world, 
and given back to the Venetian, that he 
may look daily at them, and think on what 
he was, and is not. The interior of St. 
Mark's, is a crowded assemblage of co- 
lumns, mosaics, and reliefs, to which you 
pass in between gates of brass, and doors 
adorned with silver. You see pillars of 
porphyry, and of other precious materials, 
and a pavement of rude mosaic, in oriental 
marbles. It is not a large, light, or a grand 
church within, but it is old, old in its taste 
and ornaments ; such as the Greek artist 
of the declining Empire would have 
praised, and the Moor from Granada 
might almost have worshipped in, and up 
to which he certainly would have walked, 
and the Arabian with him, admiringly. 
The feature, which in this temple most 



414 VENICE. 

struck me, was the pavement ; it is of 
mosaic, but as much worn, and its surface 
as uneven, and full of sinkings, as if it had 
never been laid down smooth. I like to 
put my foot on a pavement where I know 
that mailed warriors have trodden. I like 
to look round among pillars, and at altars 
where I know them to have stood, or 
kneeled unhelmed. As you pass out by 
that door, which leads upon the small square 
of the palace, you find yourself on ground, 
where six hundred years ago you might 
have seen an old man vigorous, yet vener- 
able, in heavy armour, and a turbaned 
youth in silken robes by his side, and 
men with aged beards and Asiatic dresses 
with that youth, and crowds of brave 
barons in their steel cuirasses, with the 
crusader's surcoat ; for Dandolo, the doge, 
and Alexius with his counsellors, and the 
chivalry of France went forth and passed 
into their boats, and thence climbed the 
tall galley anchored off this pier; per- 
haps they trod, or paused to return, by 
answering salutations, the shouts of assem- 



VENICE. 415 

bled Venice there, where yon Austrian 
sits smoking on the guard-bench. — Poor 
Venice ! those were her days of strength 
and wealth, and glory. Then, after, when 
these waned a little, she became queen of 
all revels : pleasure, and song, and dance, 
had thrones here, and pilgrims to the 
shrine of sensual joy came flocking into 
this enchanted city of gems, and masks, 
and wanton dress ; and, in our own old 
happy England, grave, good grave men 
would smile and listen while any talked 
of Venice. Well, the trumpet-breath of 
triumph, and the guitar of the merry 
masker, are alike silent. 

You may walk in St. Mark's Place at 
midnight ; few, if any, shall you meet ; a 
light or two still glimmers under the long 
arcades, from some open cafe, where a 
drowsy waiter wakes for the chance visit of 
the gamester, or the libertine in his passage 
home. I went one night, between twelve 
and one, to St. Mark's Place, and this was 
just the state I found it in. I paced to 



416 VENICE. 

and fro long and thoughtfully ;— all was 
silent, dark, and sad. 

The waiter told me, when I mentioned 
to him my astonishment, that I should find 
it otherwise at many seasons, especially 
the carnival : '^ however," added the man, 
" after all, Venice is not gay, never gay ; 
" but come at the carnival ; you will find 
amusement." A carnival at Venice ! I 
would not, I think, even wish to see it ; 
to look upon the city is enough ; these 
modern inhabitants can never fill up that 
fair outline. When the broad and bril- 
liant clasps of that " golden girdle," * 
which embraced the world, met here in 
Venice, I now see all that she was ; her 
sons and daughters, dresses and diversions, 
her proud processions, her gorgeous fes- 
tivals and joyous carnival, I see them all. 

The ducal palace is all splendour ; her 
decorated halls, where history has written 
on the rich and glowing canvas, her fame, 

* Commerce. 



VENICE. 41 7 

and state, and power, lie open to the 
stranger ; and a high pleasure it is to 
walk among them, and look up to the 
proud works of Titian, Paul Veronese, and 
Tintoretto, and to see forms, and faces, 
and scenes talked of to us by our books ; 
but, whither leads this little skreened 
passage ? Unseen yourself, you may look 
out upon the sparkling ocean, the dart- 
ing gondolas, the crowded quay ! To 
what apartments does it lead? To the 
prisons of Venice: you are on the Bridge 
of Sighs! Come back, there other wonders 
in this splendid palace : come along this 
marble gallery ; now enter this small 
chamber ; lift that trap-door ; tal^ your 
torch; comedown; you are in the wells, 
the prison wells of Venice. Look into this 
small miserable cell ; you cannot, even 
with your torch, and narrow as it is, you 
cannot chase away the gloom. Here 
lay no common felons, no dark assas- 
sins : this was the prison of the state, 
for dangerous nobles, such as were bold 

E E 



418 VENICE. 

and popular; and good plebeians, too, 
of mind, 

" Who boldly uttered what they rightly thought,'* 

were here inhumed as suspected men. They 
never saw the sun, or felt the fire, or even 
looked upon such feeble ray as the dim 
taper gives : long days they lay in darkness, 
and alone; sometimes were mocked by the 
hope of freedom, and led for trial to a stern 
tribunal ; sometimes tortured, killed ; or 
haply died, or sickened, and went mad ; 
or, worse than all, lived on in conscious 
misery, and ceased to take all count of time 
that seemed eternal. Let us return : here, 
in this hole, in the gallery wall was the 
famous lion's mouth, where sculked the 
cloked accuser, in the hour of darkness, to 
drop his poison. 

If I live a century I will not mourn over 
the fallen pride of a government^ in principle 
and practice so like the merciless Inquisi- 
tion ; for the rest, — I cannot think of her 
brave warriors and her enlightened mer- 
chants of the olden time without a natural 
admiration : and as for all her smiling 



VENICE. 419 

gaiety, I know, and I have not forgotten, 
what I used to think of Venice, and how 
the very word led up a long train of images 
all joyous : and while I rowed, in all direc- 
tions, through her still waters, and trod 
her narrow lanes, and crossed her marble 
bridges, I admit I called them up, and 
gazed on them, and sighed, and then dis- 
missed them, and looked up and begged 
that sigh might be forgiven, and felt re- 
lieved, and smiled again. There have long 
been spots in Venice dear to the English- 
man, who loves the poets of his country : 
the Rialto is one : I would that I had gone 
to it in the dull, dark night. Otway is 
perhaps the poet who has peopled Venice 
with sadder forms and voices, and with a 
sterner, prouder character than any. It 
was in Cyprus Othello broke his heart. 
True it is that Shylock walked home from 
the Rialto, with gabardine defiled, and 
heart's blood turned to gall : Portia, Loren- 
zo, Jessica ; all are present to the thought 
as you stand on the Rialto. But when we 
think of Jaffier, and of Pierre, and of all 
E E 2 



420 VENICE. 

the cumulative miseries of that sad drama : 
the loves, the ruin, and the wreck of Jaffier, 
— why, all our sympathies crowd to the 
warmed heart and swell it ; — 

" Wilt thou then. 



When in a bed of straw we shrink together. 

And the bleak winds shall whistle round our heads. 

Wilt thou then talk thus to me ?" 

and the fond, the faithful Belvidera ; these 
things come home to all. 

The giant steps, the church of St. Gio- 
vanni and St. Paolo, the equestrian statue 
near, and the black curtain where Faliero's 
portrait is not, all these are now, and will 
hereafter be, sought by the traveller, with 
a feeling which doth increase, and largely, 
the melancholy pleasure of a gaze at 
Venice. 

I visited the lifeless arsenal ; there are 
lions in white marble watching or reposing 
at the gate ; one that sat, as it still sits here, 
a guardian of the Pyrasus of Athens, an- 
other that couched upon the public path 
between Athens and that harbour. 

The armoury is poor in old relics, yet it 



VENICE. 421 

has some curiously constructed weapons. 
However, it can boast of a suit of armour 
which Henry the Fourth of France is said 
to have worn in battle ; a sword, too, v/hich 
that valiant king is said to have wielded. 
In a slip, near one of the dull, empty docks, 
there lies a black and broken hulk, her 
upper works all gone; a something you 
would look for on a wild, lone beach ; a 
stranded, stripped, abandoned hull : it is 
the Bucentaur, in which the dukes of 
Venice went forth to wed the Adriatic, a 
vessel, all of gilded pride, that swam the 
ocean like a ruler's crown. Jews clubbed 
their ducats, and bought, for eighteen thou- 
sand, all her glittering ornaments ; Jews, 
whose forefathers the old Venetians spat 
upon. 

Thank God, this is done no more in 
Venice : the Jew in Europe walks erect ; 
and the vast change in the condition of that 
chosen, separate, afflicted race, throughout 
all Italy, is not a little remarkable. 

There are many noble churches in Ve- 
nice ; that of St. George the greater is one 

E E 3 



422 VENICE. 

of the most elegant ; a design grand yet 
simple. There are many others rewarding 
a visit, in paintings or in tombs ; you find 
something of interest in them all. In the 
church of St. Giovanni e Paolo you linger 
long, and it would be one of no common 
interest, as the fane before which stands the 
monument Colleoni, and in which may be 
seen the tombs of Marino Faliero's great 
ancestors, and other warlike nobles, if By- 
ron had not also left on it the impress of 
his genius. 

The paintings of the Venetian school are 
seen to great advantage in the large hall of 
the academy ; Titian, Paul Veronese, Lean- 
dro Bassano, Bonifacio, Tintoretto, are the 
masters whose pictures are here exhibited. 
The Assumption of the Virgin by Titian, 
the Resurrection of Lazarus by Bassano, 
are two most wonderful performances ; and 
there is a character about the other masters 
which quite dazzles by a bright, rich gor- 
geousness. In a little chamber beyond, 
where the academy holds its sittings, ele- 
gantly decorated by the pencil of Titian, 
15 



VENICE. 423 

and containing a few exquisite bronzes, 
there is a small monumental urn, in which 
is preserved the still, cold heart of Canova ; 
and those w^ho have been in the studio of 
that great man, and have looked upon his 
fair creations, do not pass it bj without 
some tribute of regret. 

There is no gallery which, for its size and 
contents, is visited by the ignorant traveller 
of my stamp with more delight than that of 
the Manfrini. In every chamber is a cata- 
logue of a most excellent description ; it is 
a sketch of the walls and the pictures cover- 
ing them, just as they hang; in the blank 
space within each figured frame is written 
the subject and the master's name. Nobody 
talks to you; you gaze and pass on, or 
pause and enjoy. It were vain to speak of 
the pictures descriptively : there are very 
many first-rate productions, and in the por- 
traits of beauty it is rich. 

In the palace Barbarigo there are very 
fine paintings by Titian. His Magdalen 
is there ; not beautiful, yet vei^y beautiful ; 
for you can see the heart swelling up in a 

E E 4 



424 VENICE. 

bosom bursting with sorrow, and the eye 
has in it the big and dimming tear of pe- 
nitence. There is (I think in this palace) 
a painting by Bassano of the Scourging ; a 
sad, awful subject, treated with a power 
which does and ought to beat upon the 
gazer's mind and heart, with stripes heavy, 
silent, and healing. 

There is a Saint Sebastian by Titian 
here, a sorrowful picture ; a Prodigal Son, 
by Leandro Bassano, an excellent picture, 

A Venus of Titian, which is curiously 
framed and strangely placed just opposite the 
Magdalen, fi'amed in like manner, does not, 
I think, attract much admiration, for moral 
beauty doth always win the homage of man's 
heart, left free to choose between them. 
We like to look upon smiles and beauty, 
but we cannot withhold sympathy from 
virtue suffering, or from that something 
higher — the sob, the tear of erring and 
shamed humanity, confessing, mourning, 
and repentant. 

The famous picture of Paolo Veronese, 
in the Palazzo Pisani, representing the 



VENICE. 425 

family of Darius at the feet of Alexander, 
gave me no pleasure. 

You leave the palace step, and, as you 
think, first of history, and then of Dryden's 
lyre, you forget the painting, or you wish 
to forget the painting. 

It is pleasant to stand up in your gondola, 
and lean back upon the awning, and skim 
lightly all about the city, and to feed your 
eye and fill your memory. And there is 
something of a sensation quite new to glide 
about upon the water, in the dark night, 
now passing a long, narrow canal, lonely 
and silent, and at the corner the gondolier's 
cautionary cry, and the turning into the 
great canal, and catching, here and there, 
rays of dull light in motion, the lanthorns 
of a few stray gondolas, hurrying home 
with some coffined laughers. 

Venice is a place to sojourn long in. I 
learn with surprise that travellers often 
hurry away in a day or two after their 
arrival. 

As I was leaning on a book-stall, near 
one of the small bridges, looking over old 



426 VENICE. 

parchment-bound volumes, and examining 
some prints of Venice and her costumes 
m the old time, I heard myself addressed, 
and, turning, was asked the way into some 
shop, whose window looked out on the 
canal just opposite to me, by a lady of very 
surpassing beauty. I stammered, and ex- 
cused my ignorance of the way, as if it wa,s 
in a stranger, which I declared myself, a 
fault. She smiled very triumphantly : the 
keeper of the book-stall gave the direction 
wanted ; she walked away all grace, step- 
ped into a gondola with two gondoliers in 
livery, and looked back again with an air 
that seemed to say, " Traveller, whoever 
you are, forget not that you have seen in 
Venice a very lovely woman." A majes- 
tically-featured dama she was, whoever 
she may be ; for when I recovered from the 
pleased surprise of such a vision, and saw 
the black gondola skim beneath the bridge, 
and round into some other of the canals, 
in this labyrinth of water-paths, I asked in 
vain. She certainly took her place in my 
memory, as one of those living portraits, 



VENICE, 427 

which " pass us by in the world's cr^owd,^^ 
and shed a radiance on the path. 

The last thing I did in Venice was to 
ascend the tall tower of St. Mark's, and 
look out upon the stately city — a scene of 
wonder ! I staid there long ; just as I was 
thinking of coming down, while under the 
bell, it gave its warning grate, and then 
swung heavily across, and rung out with slow 
but deafening peal. It is a fearful thing to 
pass beneath this ponderous bell in motion : 
you hioiv there is no danger, yet it was five 
minutes before I darted under it, and went 
down. I was pretending to gaze out upon 
the city, and a man near was talking to me, 
but I heard him not ; my thoughts were 
with a fiction, which (I know not where) 
I met in some modern magazine. The 
author or relater tells of his feelings, as he 
lay once beneath a huge bell, which swung 
and knelled so close above him, that he 
could not stir without danger, and felt him- 
self maddening with the horror. What a 
strange, sad, pleasing, chilling power have 



428 VICENZA. 

fictions; how at his will the writer stirs 
you! 

There was an early moon the very even- 
ing I left Venice, so I just had one imper- 
fect moonlight view before I quitted it ; 
even that I shall not forget ; and now, what- 
ever book may talk to me of that " sea 
Cybele," I know her aspect well. 

Vicenza should not be hurried through ; 
it is a beautiful little place. Palladio has 
spread his adornments over it, and many of 
the public buildings and private palaces 
are the work of that celebrated architect. 
His Olympic theatre, a building in imita- 
tion of the ancients, is a most elegant and 
interesting edifice. 

I only passed through this city, but cheer- 
fully resigned my dinner for the ramble and 
the sight. I took a chubby- cheeked ten- 
year-old cicerone; and we finished the 
round by a regular school-boy's stuffing 
(both of us) at a confectioner's. I passed 
the ambulatory prison of a poor elephant ; 
any one who. has seen these docile intelli- 



verona; 429 

gent creatures in India, with the Httle black 
children of their keeper crawhng round 
their pillar-hke, and cautiously lifted legs, 
feels sorry for the poor exile, shut up as he 
is, and must be, for the purposes of exhi- 
bition. 

I was two days in Verona ; a noble re- 
main, the amphitheajtre ! perfect, too per- 
fect for picturesque beauty, and kept, as it 
would seem, for some shows in our day ; 
not bloody, indeed, the show ; some dance 
and foolery exhibited before Europe's as- 
sembled masters, and the marble seats 
filled with a throng of shouting slaves, a 
few bold mutterers mingled in the mass. I 
saw the house where the congress held its 
sittings. I hope it may stand long, and be 
a spot for thousands yet unborn to go and 
look in scorn upon. I love Spain and her 
sierras ; I have sat by the Spaniard's fire, 
and broke his bread ; I have seen him smile, 
and heard him curse. They may pour con- 
tempt upon him for his failure : again he 
has been betrayed by counsellors without 
talent, and leaders without honesty : para- 



430 VERONA. 

lysed, too, he has been by the withering 
anathema of mother church ; but king and 
inquisitors, monks and prelates may cabal 
in vain ; the Spaniard will be free. If the 
parochial clergy of Spain were all (as hun- 
dreds of them are, and thousands will be- 
come) friends to a cause which would lift 
them above the monk and all church 
lumber, the Spaniard, who never will be 
found overthrowing altars and carrying 
about a goddess of reason, emboldened by 
the thought that he might act with a free 
conscience in the great work of Spain's de- 
liverance, would be again in arms. Never, 
anywhere, did mother so suffer in bringing 
to the birth, as Spain does with this moun- 
tain child of liberty ; but the throes of her 
sad labour past, I do not fear, it will be a 
healthy offspring. 

Verona is a charming city, beautiful and 
cheerful. There is a coffin preserved near 
this city, which you wander forth to see. 
In an old outhouse, near a garden, once 
the cemetery of a convent, amid Teeds, 
straw, the wine vessel, the basket, and the 



BRESCIA. 431 

gardener's tools, you are shown a rude sar- 
cophagus of common marble ; you see the 
raised part which pillowed the corpse's 
head, and the sockets where burned the 
holy candles to scare foul fiends. In this 
narrow bed of stone there once lay a sweet 
sufferer, livings loving, fearless, and confid- 
ing — a girl, who dared this gloomy pas- 
sage to the bridal bed of her first fond 
choice ; she lived and died here in Verona; 
she lives for us (not on our stage, none ever 
gave the portrait), she lives in Shakspeare's 
page — 'tis Juliet's tomb. How we have 
all let loose our capabilities of joy at the 
natural true tone of her young love, and 
then the blight of that sweet bud ; while 
leaning here we only sigh and say, 

" The course of true love never did run smooth.'* 

A wedding on the death-couch of cold 
stone, and two such fair, fair forms — sad 
nuptials ; — yet better far than many that 
we read of. 

The road from Verona to Brescia, by the 
Lago di Garda, is very interesting. Its 



432 MILAN. 

deep dark waters run up far into the bosom 
of embaying hills ; and the snowy Alps be- 
hind are glorious to look on. I passed the 
night in Brescia, but saw it not. On the 
road to Milan we had in the carriage a 
prima donna^ fat and forty, a Milanese shop- 
keeper, an Austrian employe^ and a French 
commercial traveller from Lyons. They 
all made themselves pleasant ; but a ques- 
tion having arisen about politics, the little 
Milanese said something in his own bar- 
barous dialect to the woman, at which she 
laughed very heartily; and the Austrian and 
Frenchman, who, from constant intercourse 
with Milan, caught their meaning, looked 
confused and vexed, especially the French- 
man. I was very anxious to know what 
had been said, and the Austrian, a sensible 
pleasant man, recovered himself and told 
me it was, " There sits a Frenchman ; they 
were our masters : there sits an Austrian ; 
they are our masters : but, for our comfort, 
there sits a laughing Englishman in the 
corner ; and they are the masters of both." 
Thus it is, go where you will, you find the 



MILAN. - 433 

foreigner impressed with a wonderful notion 
of the power of England ; powerful she 
certainly is ; but, alas ! we know that the 
voice of our beloved country is lifted up in 
these days, in many instances, unheard, or, 
what is worse, disregarded. It led me to 
say as much ; and I found the Austrian a man 
worthy thenameofaman: without atall com- 
promising his character as an Austrian ser- 
vant in public employ, he held the language 
of a true lover of sound rational liberty. 
He was a man perfectly acquainted with 
the literature of our country, and spoke 
upon all those works which have so attract- 
ed and delighted the public at home, as if 
he had read them with a true understand- 
ing relish. 

Milan is a fine city ; a great deal of life 
in it. Its nobles and gentry have the air of 
a something between the French and Eng- 
lish: more grave than the former, more 
lively than the latter. 

The duomo or cathedral is a magnificent 
pile of building. I do not know any tem- 
ple, in the Gothic taste, decorated with so 

F F 



434 . MILAN. 

laboured a following up of a rich and fan- 
ciful design, though producing an effect 
regular and symmetrical. A vast mass of 
white marble, figured out on all sides in 
relief and tracery, is, of itself, a wonder ; 
but, covered as it is with all those Gothic- 
pointed ornaments on the roof, those dwarf 
spires, each with an angel on its top, sup- 
ported (as it were) in air ; a light and lofty 
spire, rising 170 feet above that broad and 
ornamented roof; I know of nothing so 
vast which may be said to be so elaborately 
curious. Within, it is all space and gloom 
— 160 columns of white marble; five naves; 
a deep perspective ; a place where the 
wounded penitent might ramble, and find 
solitude for his sobbings. It has its relics and 
its precious things to show, like other 
churches in Italy ; but that which most in- 
terests in Milan is a very small old church, 
and the recollection ofAmbrose, that humane 
undaunted prelate. I know on what tender 
ground I tread, and how inconsistent it may 
appear, to delight in that wonderful tone of 
authority which he assumed ; but, Ambrose 
18 



MILAN. 435 

chasing back the Gothic guards from the 
threshold of this basilica ; his refusal to go 
into exile ; meeting and turning back Theo- 
dosius in the porch of the temple, and re- 
ceiving him afterwards in the aisle of the 
temple, only in the garb and the attitude of 
penance, is a something so moving, a pic- 
ture so astonishing, that it seems to realise 
to our minds the priest and prophet — 
the lawgiver of the oldest and earliest 
periods. 

About fifteen miles from Milan, on the 
plain of Pavia, and near to the very spot 
where he who wrote that he had lost every- 
thing, except his honour, was led along on 
his sweating, drooping battle-steed, a pri- 
soner, is a famous convent (now tenantless) 
of Carthusian friars ; that prodigal embel- 
lishment which you find in the church of 
this convent, almost fatigues, in examina- 
tion ; to write or to read of it would be more 
oiFensive. It is, however, due to the cha- 
racter of its magnificence, to say that there 
is nothing glittering or tawdry — something 
the painter has done — something the sta- 

F F 2 



436 MILAN. 

tuary ; but the common ornamental sculp- 
tor, and the inlayer of mosaic are the artists 
to whom the task of adorning this church 
seems more particularly to have been en- 
trusted. After passing from it through a 
small cloistered quadrangle, containing no- 
thing remarkable, you are led into a square 
enclosure, large and airy, round which are 
the dwellings where the solitary brethren 
once mourned away their miserable useless 
lives. Each hermitage has apartments, 
conveniences, and a little garden ; a small 
sort of bricked court with a plot or two for 
flowers or something green ; a kind of spot 
to which the recluse, by the crumbs of his 
loathed meal loose scattered on it, might 
lure some passing bird to fly down and feed, 
and dress his feathers in the sun, and chirp 
to him. You walk about these houses with 
a very delighted feeling, to know that they 
are no longer tenanted ; but you look back 
upon the solitary men who dwelt here with 
with no common pity. The seclusion of 
the cell, the silent meal, the absence of all 
personal attachments ■— how very sad ! They 



MILAN. 437 

were in my thoughts, these wretched men, 
all the drive back ; — the elm, the vine, the 
female peasants with the large ornamented 
bodkin of silver in their shining hair, the 
full and clear canal — I saw them all un- 
heedingly: but the immured monk was pre- 
sent to me ; I saw him with the world in 
his heavy heart, the lust of the flesh, and 
of the eyes, and the pride of life, with 
their comforts and beauties and honours, 
in mockery tormenting him with all their 
brightest colours. Such were the monk 
for a weaver of tales to paint. 

In Milan there are galleries of paintings, 
and a library, where I saw, at my leisure, 
some old illuminated manuscript volumes. 
There are antiquities — churches : you visit, 
and you tire. There are memorials of an- 
other kind; there is a modern amphitheatre, 
a grand capacious work; but, while you 
stand admiring the idea, and looking down 
on the arena, and wondering what may 
have been the exhibitions, your eye is 
attracted to a deformed figure of a colossal 
horse, made of wicker and pasteboard^ 

FF 3 



438 MILAN. 

standing neglected under an open portico : 
you go down 5 and you find also some bigas, or 
war-chariots, of the like trumpery materials. 
You are then told that these were the 
properties for getting up the fall of Troy, 
and the ancient chariot races ; and this in 
open daylight, before six-and-thirty thou- 
sand spectators. Harlequin Gulliver would 
be a performance dignified and rational, 
compared to such trifling. 

If, however, we laugh here at the poverty 
both of the thought, and effort to produce 
illusion, it is not in our power to do so, 
when we take a seat in the celebrated 
theatre of La Scala. 

A lover in my youth of the drama and 
the theatre, I am familiar with all the effects 
of scenery and decoration. The dazzle of 
costume ; the false sparkling of the eye j 
the painted cheek, and the groupings on 
the stage ; I had long been tired of these 
things ; but 1 must confess, that I found 
myself captivated anew, by a sight alto* 
gether surpassing what I have ever witnessed 
in any theatre. They gave the opera of 



MILAN. 439 

Zorayda ; music and singing excellent ; 
scenes and dresses were more splendid, of 
course, than reality, either in Constanti- 
nople or Cairo, can now, or ever has shown: 
this was all well ; — but the ballet, the 
" Baccanalia boliti di Roma,'^^ opened on me 
with a surprise, and a stirring delight, and 
charmed me by a continuing fascination, till 
the curtain fell. I cannot paint the thing 
at all. The march of Bacchus exceeded any 
stage procession I ever saw : the appropriate 
dresses ; the animal-leaping of the satyrs ; 
the animated variety of attitude in the 
dancing Bacchanals ; the vine leaves ; the 
leopard skins ; the Thyrsi ; the lofty up- 
curving ancient horns ; the Pan's-pipes ; the 
trill of the timbrels ; the clash of the gilded 
cymbals; thetyger; the goats; the car of the 
youthful Bacchus ; the nymphs ; the fauns; 
the music moving all; and not one in the vast 
grouping inattentive to his or her part in the 
picture. It won you, as in dance they came 
on ; some with that fearless inclining forward 
of the body, as if they leaned on air ; others 
r F 4 



440 MILAN. 

with the head thrown back, and the bare 
throat swelling in full beauty ; and the 
waving of the Thyrsi ; the pauses and the 
turns ; the bended arms ; the statue-formed 
limbs. It brought before you the grouping 
Bacchanals in old reliefs on marble baths 
and vases. I cannot paint the thing, but, 
freely I confess, it gave me pleasure : — 



" Songs, garlands, flowers. 

And charming symphonies attached the heart 
Of Adam, soon inclined to admit delight^ 
The bent of nature ^ 

And so it is ; but as I passed home in 
the dull night, and thought upon those 
beings, who are thrown on the arena for 
our amusement, to struggle it against pas- 
sion warring within, and profligacy assailing 
without, through the season of youth, and 
beauty, and peril ; and then in a more ad- 
vanced age, dancing on through long years 
of poverty, privation, and pain, I felt re- 
proved for my censure of the Roman ; and 
doubted much whether the shouting bravo 
over a soul in danger, would bear a more 
close examination than the death-decreeing 



MILAN. 441 

turn of the Roman's hand as the vanquished 
combatant looked round for mercy. 

I do not say, close the theatre ; but I 
would that it were, in every land, what it 
might be : a scene for the muse, for comedy, 
for song. I would that actors were all placed 
in circumstances, so protected and secure, 
that they could live respectably, and die in 
honour, as numbers do, and have done, in 
our native country. Happily, in England, 
we have no great taste, as a nation, for 
ballets : a very humbly performed drama, 
and a broad farce to raise a laugh, constitute 
the amusements of our country towns. In 
Italy, each town, of any size, has its opera, 
and corps de ballet; but, generally speak- 
ing, they are (both singers and dancers) 
bad : good music you have. The traveller 
finds the same operas, whatever are the 
two or three favourite for the year, repre- 
senting all over the country. // Turco in 
Italia and Cenerentola were the two most 
popular as I passed along ; the ballets more 
varied, but bad. At Padua, however, one 



442 MILAN. 

evening I went growling to the theatre, at 
the idea that Romeo and Juliet were, in a 
ballet, to be danced through their loves 
and sorrows, to their sad end. Strange to 
say, that the part of Julief^ was acted in 
so admirable a manner, that with the 
words of Shakspeare in my head, I almost 
forgot it was dumb show and felt deeply 
moved. 

To return ; there are some objects in 
Milan connected with the history of our 
days, which already belong to the past; 
which are viewed by the eye of the traveller 
with no common interest, and which will, in 
future ages, be visited by men with some 
historian in their hand, who writing when 
the present generation, with all their coarse 
feelings and petty hates have passed away, 
may trace the career of Napoleon with less 



* It itinst be quite unnecessary to say that I am not 
considering a dancer as a proper representative of a 
Juliet; but in parts she looked it better than even our 
once- admired O'Neil ; whose portrait was a beautiful 
one, though not at all our mind's Juliet. 



MILAN. 443 

of astonishment, and more of allowance, 
than one existing party ; with less of ad- 
miration and approval than the other; 
who will gladly balance miseries inflicted 
with benefits bestowed, and while they write 
him down, in the judicial page, a tyrant^ 
an ambitious one, who deemed 

" Ten thousand lives. 



Spent in the purchase of renown for him, 
An easy reckoning," 

may perhaps view him as a wide con- 
quering captain, through whose permit- 
ted instrumentality good, and great good, 
has certainly been conferred upon Italy, 
and, I may add, upon France herself; 
as one, however, who must and will take 
his place as a " portent of his age:" a 
tyrant ; but a warlike one, not a mean one; 
an open, grasping, governing spirit ; not a 
cold closeted conspirator against the free- 
dom and happiness of a sick, suffering, and 
exhausted country. 

With such a feeling, I stood under the 



444 MILAN. 

grand monumental gate of Marengo ; with 
such a feehng I gazed upon that triumphal 
arch which stands on the Simplon road, 
half finished ; amid silent work-sheds, and 
cornice, capital and relief lying prepared 
to have covered it with trophies and deco- 
rations. All around bears the mark of 
suddenly suspended labour : the smile of 
fortune continued for a few short years, 
and it had been a completed trophy, and 
perhaps, the members of the Verona con- 
gress might have rode under it by the side 
of a second Napoleon, and complimented 
him on the genius of his father and their 
master. I think I can separate my hate of 
the tyrant from my understanding, and, 
lamenting the natural heart's proneness to 
crime, and, from a recollection that he was 
bred a soldier and headed a triumphant 
army in his youth, I believe that many 
a man who is eloquent in the expression of 
his detestation for this perished despot, 
might, if honest in self-examination apply 
the following lines : — 



TURIN. 445 

" Yes, yes ! thou would'st (thy secret thoughts I see) 
Have cohorts, legions, armies just as he ; 
'Tis nature this : e'en they who want the will. 
Pant for the dreadful privilege to kill." 

An awful^ a sad, but a most just reflection : 
one that the exulting, amiable youth, who 
is destined to deal the death shot, and grasp 
the sabre, feels, perhaps, before he leaves 
the shelter of an innocent and peaceful 
home. 

My travelling companion to the city of 
Turin was a gentleman, who told me he 
was going there to take away his son from 
under the care of the Jesuits, for that their 
system was so entirely to estrange parent 
and child, that you could not have your 
boy out of the establishment even to pass 
six hours with you at your lodging, when 
once in the year you paid your child a 
visit. 

Turin is a very handsome city, well 
pierced in every direction, by streets, wide, 
clean, built with a certain regularity, and 
perfectly straight. There is one very spa- 



446 TURIN. 

cious square ; another with porticoes also ; 
both fine. There are many very interest- 
ing thing's to see. You walk through the 
apartments, of the palace with pleasure, 
for they contain many very fine paintings. 
The chambers are in an old tawdry taste ; 
in the ante-hall you find halberdiers in the 
old party-coloured dresses, similar to those 
worn by the pope's Switzers. 

All is falling back in Turin to the age of 
darkness ; painful it may be to hear and 
see this ; still it is only for the necessary 
renewal of old struggles that you grieve, 
because the end of those struggles may be 
long ere it arrive, but must be triumphantly 
decisive in favour of civil' and religious 
freedom. There is a great deal of mind 
at work all over the continent, and it will 
speak ere long in a voice that must be lis- 
tened to. 

The Superga is well worth going to. I 
walked there ; it was a fine, clear, cold day. 
The church and the tombs beneath are 
seen with pleasure. There are cushions 



TURIN. 447 

of porphyry, and little white marble clierubs 
very prettily executed on one of the mo- 
numents. The view down upon the city, 
lying in a spacious, rich, well-watered plain, 
and the snowy Alps behind is truly fine. 

Eugene of Savoy when he came to relieve 
and saved Turin, reconnoitred the besiegers 
from the very ground where you stand. 

From hence I took the diligence to Lyons, 
and passed up out of Italy over Mont Cenis ; 
very romantic is the situation of Susa, and 
the road up the mountain, a noble work ; 
I walked before the carriage and enjoyed 
the grand features of the scenery ; the plain 
and mountain-lake have a bright, calm 
aspect ; the pine-covered side of the moun- 
tain, as you wind easily and rapidly down 
it to Lanslebourg, has a wild look. The 
dark trees, and the snow and ice in drifts, 
and flakes, and glassy fragments at the feet 
of them and near the water-courses, pro- 
duce a very picturesque effect. Nothing 
is more tormenting to a lover of fine scenery 
than to be hurried over a^ch a road as that 



448 LYONS. 

from the foot of Mont Cenis to Lyons, 
boxed up in a carriage. I took frequent 
occasions to walk up hills, and forward, 
when they changed horses, but the dili' 
gence travels rather too fast to admit of 
this easily. However, many passing views 
I caught,. of the most romantic beauty. 

Near Echelles you pass through the 
rock pierced by the famous Chemin de la 
Grotte. It has been a prodigious labour, 
and is a truly fine work. The clear, sunny 
weather which I had been enjoying for 
nearly two months, and which continued 
to shed smiles all over the beauties of the 
road through Savoy, broke up just as we 
reached Lyons, and I found that city en- 
veloped in dense fog. No contrast can be 
greater than that between Lyons and Turin, 
or, indeed the cities o£ Italy generally. 
Lyons is all stir, bustle, industry ; Turin, 
stillness, indifference, indolence. The peo- 
ple in Italy look as if they were a passive 
race, and permitted evils to take their 
course : the people of France as if they 



y 



PARIS. 449 

were active, and tried to control them. I 
made little delay here, and only lounged 
through its streets, quays, and squares. 

I put myself into the coupet of the dili^ 
gence, and was driven or rather rapidly drag- 
ged up to Paris in a manner that surprised 
me. The rate of travelling is wonderfully im- 
proved since I left France. The machine^ 
and the race of horses, and the postillion in 
his blue smock frock, his clubbed and pow- 
dered hair, and his jack boots, are pretty 
much the same as I then remember them ; 
but now the ponderous machine rolls, and 
flounders, and swings along in a way that 
makes you contemplate a breaking down, 
or an overturn, and a weighty deep bedding 
in the soil as far from improbable. 

However, I reached Paris in three days ; 
only two days did I pass in that city ; on 
one I was busied about my passport ; on 
the other I saw the Due d'Angouleme re- 
enter Paris in state, triumph, or whatever 
it is to be called. The private character of 
that prince is, I am told, excellent, and I 
looked upon him with pity ; the child as 

G G 



450 i>Aijis. 

he had been of circumstances, the instru- 
ment of evil. The guard of the army of 
Spain which entered with him looked con- 
fused, and even silly. They were too 
much of soldiers not to feel the mockery. 
They had too little of reflection to think 
as they might have done with some slight 
satisfaction on bloodless advantages, and a 
protecting discipline, honourably preserved. 
The Parisians, the vainest and the most 
pcean-singing people on earth, thought of 
Austerlitz and Jena, and affecting a liberal, 
political feeling, far stronger than their real 
one, were silent or sparing in their acclam- 
ations. The women, who love a spectacle^ 
let the occasion be what it may, crowded 
on to the scene, and did salute the pro- 
cession, feebly, yet more than the men. 
However, the elements which warred 
againstNapoleon are very impartial, for they 
warred against the triumph of the Bour- 
bon ; and many a white pocket handker- 
chief, which I doubt not would have been 
gracefully waved out, with the cry of " Vive 
le due d' Angouleme,'' was more import- 
17 



CALAIS. 451 

antly employed in covering and protecting 
hats, caps, bonnets, and ribbons from the 
falling rain. Palafox ! you are well in your 
grave ; and you^ noble old man ! who de- 
fended Gerona ; you are well in your 
honoured graves ! 

I found in Calais, on the evening of my 
arrival, a crowd of travellers, whom three 
days wild stormy December weather had 
detained ; but the morning after, the plea- 
sant sun shone forth again. It was not 
cold ; the sea had fallen ; the wind was 
foul ; the tide and current strong and un- 
favourable. Seated on the deck of a steam- 
vessel, the first I had ever been on board 
of, I passed gently and rapidly over to the 
foot of that tall white cliff, all wandering 
Britons know and love. 

And now. Reader, farewell. — If I have 
succeeded in painting any scenes in Egypt 
or in Italy to the satisfying of your mind's 
eve, I shall be content and thankful. If 
I have wearied you by dwelling fondly on 
the warm impressions, which, in my soli- 



452 CONCLUSION. 

tavy breast, tliose scenes have deeply graven, 
bear with me- — 



" For I have learned 



To look on nature, not as in the hour 

Of thoughtless youth ; but hearing oftentimes 

The still sad music of humanity, 

Not harsh, nor grating, though of ample power 

To chasten and subdue." 



THE END. 



LONDOK : 

Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoode,, 
New- Street- Square, 



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